


Hogwarts' Monster

by Paperblank



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:22:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paperblank/pseuds/Paperblank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Harry Potter's First Year. Everything is complicated in the life of Harry Potter, young wizard raised in the Black traditions and abilities. Everything gets even more complicated when Harry reaches Hogwarts, where creatures and monsters dwell in the shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Black Sisterhood

Dorea Potter kept her eyes closed. She sifted gingerly through her memories and remembered the previous day. She and Charlus had decided to spend the week-end in their country cottage in Wales. Pendraig Lodge was located outside of the village of Llechryd. It was surrounded by green fields and the Teifi river flowed through peacefully. It was the perfect retreat from their hectic activities in London and from the dreadful warlike events that plagued England since the rise of the Dark Lord.

Charlus always called him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but in her heart Dorea was a Black before she was a Potter. The Blacks were a Dark family and a good number of them followed the Dark Lord, even if she wouldn't. Couldn't, really, as her husband was the Head of a prominent Light family. Their young son, James, now in his seventh year at Hogwarts, would follow in his father's footsteps. It was a disappointment to Dorea that she had had no other child and had had no one to teach the Black family magic, but James was Light all the way and didn't care about Dark traditions, which he openly despised.

A peaceful week-end was all she had wanted, but it wasn't to be. The sun had set down early and the Potter couple had been chatting in the living room around the fireplace when the cold February night had turned turbulent and deadly. The front door had suddenly been blasted open by a violent curse. A group of black-clad men, their faces covered by a very recognisable white mask, had entered the cottage and surrounded the Potters who had raised their wands to defend themselves.

Dorea remembered the stench of burnt wood from the fire spells used by the Death Eaters ; she remembered the pain in her thighs and calves as she ran and dodged and parried and fought the best she could ; she remembered the raucous laughter of a young man — she had recognised him immediately, Evan Rosier, the younger brother of Druella, her niece-by-marriage ; she remember the metallic smell of blood when her husband was hit by the purple light of an Entrails-Expelling curse and went on fighting with his intestines falling out of his gut ; she remembered the empty eyes of a Death Eater after she hit his throat with a well-placed Reducto ; she remembered the green flash of Avada Kedavra flying towards her ; then, she remembered no more.

Dorea Potter opened her eyes slowly. She was still in Pendraig Lodge, but the cottage had been thoroughly destroyed : furniture overturned and ripped open, black marks on the walls where spells had hit, glass windows shattered... And the world all around her appeared to be blurred, in shades of grey and strangely muffled, as if she had damaged her sight and hearing. She rubbed her eyes and saw herself on the floor, dishevelled, mouth gaping, her warm velvet robes hitched up to her waist revealing torn undergarments. She rubbed her eyes again and her defiled corpse was still on the floor. She looked away, nauseated, and saw her husband's body not far away. His intestines had been walked on repeatedly, hopefully after he died. She leant towards him and whispered, "Goodbye, Charlus. You were a good husband." Only silence answered her.

Dorea's eyes stung her as she considered her situation. She was dead. She was all alone in her ruined cottage. She hadn't crossed the Veil to go on and she hadn't chosen to stay behind as a ghost. Grey and blurred and muffled. She wasn't in the living world anymore and wasn't in the otherworld either. She sniffed sadly but didn't cry. She was a Black. Yes, she thought, I am a Black and this situation reeks of Dark magic. Death magic. She felt dizzy for a second, but she was a Black. She took a deep breath, turned away from her last home and walked into the grey blurred world of limbo.

***

Dorea walked through the grey countryside. She walked though a grey city with grey buildings. She walked though grey streets, beside grey passers-by. Her throat clenched at the thought of spending eternity in grey limbo, unable to go back or forwards, forever alone. She didn't notice her steps guiding her towards a small sound, words whispered, hissing breaths held as if waiting for something.

She was deep in thought about Death magic. She had died young, at fifty-seven, and it wasn't unusual for the Black family. No Black was long-lived. Is the family under a curse ? she wondered. After all, Death magic wasn't a speciality of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, so dying young wasn't a consequence of gifts provided by the magic of the dead. Her introspection went on until she heard quite clearly female voices talking in a low voice. Looking around her, she was surprised to find herself hundreds of miles away from Pendraig Lodge, in front of the Black family seat in London, 12 Grimmauld Place. 

It was a tall dark building that Muggles had thought haunted until stringent repelling and obliviating charms had been added to the wards to "keep the Muggle filth away" according to Arcturus Black, current Head of House, and to "stop dirty nosy Muggles digging into the imbecilic ghost legend" according to Pollux Black, his cousin. Both men lived in the London house together, having outlived their wives, with a couple of their children — Orion and Walburga — which they had married together and their grandchildren, Sirius and Regulus. Well, at least until Sirius had fled.

Dorea knew young Sirius quite well, as he was the best friend of her own son James. The boy had left his family after some terrible row with his parents. It wasn't unexpected as her niece Walburga was quite a harpy and tended to raise her children by insulting them horribly in a shrieking voice, beating them on the head or anywhere she could reach and generally pushing them to their breaking point. Sirius had sought refuge in the Potter household last year and Charlus had fostered him — against Dorea's wishes, the boy was a Black, for Merlin's sake, the task should have been hers — like a second son.

The voices inside startled her when she heard her name mentioned. She focused on the snippets of conversation and listened.

"... poor Dorea and her husband..."

"... Eaters and the cottage was left in dreadful conditions..."

"... was a Black, what were they doing here ?"

"... husband was as Light as they come, you know, so they..."

"... welcome her here..."

"... if she comes. Maybe she..."

It sounded as if several women were discussing her fate. Don't those meddlers know that I'm dead ? she snapped in her head. Her anger was growing rapidly, as she was quite fed up with her preposterous situation. She was dead ! Her husband was dead ! Her son was a seventeen-year-old idiot who wanted to become an Auror to fight Death Eaters and would probably die on the task ! Her body had been violated after her demise by fellow Dark wizards, some of whom were related to her !

"ENOUGH !" She shouted quite loudly, not believing her words would be heard. After all, she needed to stop the frightful pressure building in her chest and the awful tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She was beginning to feel better when suddenly three women walked through the front door and hurried down the stairs towards her. Blood buzzed in her ears and she felt like she was having a stroke. Maybe she would have had a stroke if she were still alive.

In front of her stood three Black women. Three dead Black women. She recognised her great-aunt Elladora, wearing one of her enormous feathered hats. The woman had died when Dorea was still a young child of ten but the memories of her 'Great-Aunt Ellie' had been imprinted in her mind. The woman had terrified her with tales of unworthy beaus sent away with their blood boiling in their veins, or with their blood disappearing from their bodies, or with their blood burning their organs like acid. She recognised her aunt Belvina, who looked like a small china doll. She had only ever seen photographs of her, because the woman had been married young -- into the Burke family -- and her husband had incarcerated into their manor for sixty years, until he went quite barmy and stabbed her to death while she slept. Her brother Cygnus, Dorea's father, had always lamented the loss of his favourite sibling, his 'little Vinnie', and had told childhood tales of her when he was drunk. She recognised her cousin Charis, one of the rare blond of the Black family, who had died of untreated dragon pox four years earlier because her husband was a Crouch and they were notably stingy.

Her heart soared at the idea of family to spend her death with. Her shock dissipated and her lips twitched into an small smile. Elladora held out her hands and said, "Welcome back home, dear child." Appropriate behaviour quite forgotten, Dorea rushed into the open arms and felt herself embraced by her three relatives. She was a Black, and she was home.

***

After a few minutes of weepy effusions, Dorea explained to Elladora, Belvina and Charis what had happened last night in Pendraig Lodge. The calm before the storm. The ugly masks of the Death Eaters. The laughter of Evan Rosier. The Killing Curse. The surprise of being here-but-not-here. Her dead raped body on the floor. Her dead husband. Her home destroyed. The world grey and blurred and muffled. Her long walk. Her loneliness. Her despair. And finally Grimmauld Place. At the end of her tale, she felt completely wrung out and gratefully followed the others women inside.

Grimmauld Place hadn't changed at all. The entrance was dark and gloomy, with flickering wall lights and a switched-off gas chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. At the end of the long hallway, there was a troll-leg umbrella stand, made by a Knockturn Alley joiner with the remains of a troll killed by Phineas Nigellus, Elladora's brother, before he became Hogwarts' Headmaster. The stairs leading to the upper floors were still decorated by mounted House-Elves heads.

Dorea jumped and gasped when she heard the crack of Apparition as a clean but decrepit House-Elf popped into the hallway to open the door to Walburga and Orion. The couple was dressed in full regalia and argued while walking down the stairs. Their voices were muffled in Limbo but the woman's ear-piercing voice could be heard quite clearly.

"I will not have a heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black gallivanting with brats of Light families, no matter how prominent that family is, because it is an utter disgrace !" She was speaking louder and louder, as her husband was clearly ignoring her rant. "Do you hear me, Orion ? I want our elder son repudiated ! I want him disinherited ! I want him disowned ! And the sooner, the better ! I should have known, when he was Sorted into Gryffindor that he would not follow into the great traditions of the Black family ! The boy is even neglecting our motto, being a Black does mean being 'Toujours pur' and he associates freely with filthy Mudbloods and blood traitors !" It really seemed like Walburga didn't need to draw breath as she went on. "I'm telling you, Orion ! Are you listening to me ? Sirius will have his name blasted out of our family tree ! It is a shame, a shame to run away from the Black family ! And he is no longer my son !"

As the House-Elf — some Black ancestor had found funny to name the creature Kreacher — opened the front door and bowed to his Master and Mistress, Walburga drew a deep breath and fell silent. Her left hand went to her head to check her hair and her right hand went to the arm of her husband who activated the Portkey he held with a soft Portus. The couple disappeared surrounded by little flecks of coloured light.

Kreacher muttered under his breath about disgraceful sons as he closed the door and popped away with a loud crack.

The four Black dead women looked at each other and Charis was the first one to snigger. A few seconds later, all four of them were chuckling merrily about Walburga's diatribe. Apparently, some things never changed. The woman was a Black by birth and a Black by marriage. Being a true Black was the most important issue in her life and one of her sons had failed.

Dorea was still laughing when she said, "I don't know what she's complaining about. Sirius has all the markings of a true Black, including insanity." At the questioning glances she received, she answered. "Well, he did lure one of his Slytherin classmates into the murdering paws of a werewolf on a full moon night last year !" Hearing the shocked gasps of her relatives, she warmed up and told the complete story. As a conclusion, she added, "Yes, his plan was mad enough for a Black. The only reason he hasn't been expelled from Hogwarts or tried for attempted murder was because Headmaster Dumbledore didn't want to see the werewolf executed because of his friend's stupidity."

"You must have been so proud of your son," Elladora sighed. "He was quite courageous to interfere with those foolish plans and come between a student he loathed and a hideous raving beast..."

Dorea shook her head, "No, not really. James had goaded Sirius into the scheme. He didn't feel bad that the young Slytherin might be infected or killed. He only intervened because he thought they would get caught and punished." Her lips tightened at the remembered bitter disappointment his son had produced in her. "I scolded him quite ferociously for it, but he was so used to disregard my comments that he ignored me. His father... Charlus was a lot older and he never thought he would have the chance to have a child, so he mollycoddled and spoiled him until James was quite rotten."

Dorea's mood was turning maudlin so she changed the subject of their conversation to a question of hers that was nagging at her mind.

"So... What are four dead Black women doing in limbo ?"

"Ah well," Elladora muttered, embarrassed, " that would be my fault." Charis and Belvina who had clearly heard the story before hid their smirks behind their hands. "You see, in the 1880s, I had a liaison with a Ministry official. It was quite a scandal, as he was married to the Minister's daughter. The girl was a whiny little poppet, so I wasn't worried about any kind of retaliation, but her mother was one of the Princes." She flushed as she heard Dorea give a gasp of horror. "Yes, but I didn't know that at the time. Anyway, the mother cursed me —"

"— but the Princes are experts in Death magic !" Dorea cried out, interrupting the tale.

"They are," Elladora nodded, "and that's why we're here. She cursed me and every female of Black blood who died after me to be bound into a fake death. We can't cross the Veil to the otherworld and we can't become ghosts to stay with the living. We're in-between."

Elladora looked at Dorea with sad eyes and said, "This is the curse of the Black women."

***

The curse of the Black women was a great topic of discussion for Dorea. She was curious and inquisitive, especially after she understood how it worked. Therefore, the four women had long debates. About why the Minister's wife’s mother — and incessant questions about the woman stirred Elladora's memory, her name was Evelyn Prince — would curse every women of the family. "Obviously, because she didn't want any more Black women in the afterworld going after her poppet's husband !" Charis joked. About why she used such a Death magic curse. "Well, Black women are so nosy that she wanted to frustrate us in not meddling in our descendants' lives or our ancestors' afterlives," Elladora answered wisely.

They had a long conversation about their respective husbands and prompted Elladora into talking about the young Ministry official she had seduced. "He was so handsome and he adored me," she told them in a wistful voice. "He would bring me exotic flowers. He wrote me erotic poems. And he gave me more pleasure than all my other lovers combined." She sighed. "He was one of the few I didn't use a blood curse on after he left me..." Considering her fiery temper and her quickness with curses, it was quite a testimonial.

Dorea's last question had however the other women mightily embarrassed. She asked about the missing Black women in limbo. Elladora explained that her sister Isla had been disowned from the family for marrying a Muggle and had died before her anyway, so before the curse was active. 

"Then what about cousin Lycoris ? You remember her, Charis, don't you ?" Dorea inquired. "That was Arcturus' sister, she died a bit more than ten years ago..."

"Erm..." Charis' cheeks were tinted pink as she stammered. "W-well, everybody thought Lycoris was an odd one, you know, e-even for a B-black..." She lowered her eyes and hesitated an instant before speaking again. "Nobody knew for sure, of course ! But the fact that she's not here proves it beyond doubt..."

"Oh Merlin !" Dorea cried out as she understood. "She's not a woman of Black blood ! Lycoris wasn't a Black !" She looked stunned and then exclaimed, "What the hell was her mother thinking ! Oh, but her husband should have known not to marry a Gamp, bunch of trollops, all of them !"

Belvina was feeling kind and tried to protest, but Charis added mischievously, "Oh, it's well-known that a Gamp girl spreads her legs every time someone asks..." Belvina tried to shush her, but Charis was warming to the subject and went on, "Every Gamp likes to be on her back. Or on her knees. Or bent over a desk, or pinned against a wall..."

"Stop being so vulgar, Charis," Belvina chastised her. "It is terribly tawdry to speak about such —" She stuttered a bit and blushed before ending her sentence, " — such dreary inclinations as the Gamp girls have."

Charis obviously wasn't feeling very charitable and didn't let the subject rest. "Well, Lycoris was odd enough that her parents couldn't marry her or ship her away for fear of besmirching the Black reputation." Her eyes gleamed as she remembered the racy gossip she had once overheard.

***

Time passed differently in limbo. It seemed only a few days after the arrival of Dorea in Grimmauld Place that her cousin Cedrella drifted mournfully through Grimmauld Place, feeling quite surprised at being welcomed by four of her ancestors and contemporaries.

“What are you doing here?” Cedrella asked, bewildered.

The four women agglomerated around the newcomer, their mouths full of questions about the state of the world and of their family.

“I can’t tell you much, you know,” Cedrella said in an exhausted voice. “I was never disowned, but no one from the Black family, or the Burkes, or the Crabbes, or the Flints, or the Bulstrodes ever forgave me from marrying a Weasley. My poor Septimus, a blood traitor, they called him. Well, Lucretia had married a Prewett and it wasn’t much better, but she wouldn’t talk to me either. Something about family loyalty…

“As far as I can say, the war is nearly over and won by that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…

“No, it’s December 1979…

“No, I wasn’t murdered, though the brothers of my daughter-in-law were, after leading the Death Eaters through a merry chase. Merry isn’t the word. It took seven of them to take them down, Gideon and Fabian, and nearly twice as many casualties from the Death Eaters’ side…”

“I had a stroke in bed, quite ridiculous at my age! I mean who in Merlin’s name dies of a stroke at fifty-two!”

And on and on, the five women went talking about the past until Dorea felt a tug in her chest. Another Black! Was another Black coming already? No… A Black was calling, blood to blood, for her.

***

Dorea felt the urgency to go in her blood, and a few steps through the grey limbo led her to a small house. Every window was dark and the open door was creaking ominously. A baby was crying. She entered the house cautiously and discovered a man's body sprawled on the stairs. As she approached, his features became clearer and she was quite shocked to recognise James. Her son was dead. Not even the Black's fortitude in front of adversity could stop the strangled sob that escaped her throat. It was her son. Her stupid, reckless, beautiful son.

The baby cried louder. He was calling 'Mama' in a high-pitched voice and receiving no answer. Dorea leaned over the body and whispered similar words of farewell that she had uttered to her husband four years earlier. "Goodbye, James. You were a good son." She climbed the stairs slowly, bracing herself against what she might discover. One door was scorched and hanging awkwardly from the frame. It led to a nursery, all painted in soothing yellow tones with little ducks bobbing around in a frieze-like pattern. It would have been the perfect room for a baby, but for the body of a red-headed woman who had collapsed in a heap in front of the crib. Even in death, her wide green eyes were pleading, most likely for the life of her child.

This must be Lily Evans, Dorea thought, the Mudblood James was enamoured with. I never thought he would marry her. The baby squealed loudly and called for his mother again. 

At last, Dorea came closer to the crib in which a small toddler with fluffy tufts of black hair standing on end on his head was sitting. His face was red from crying and his cheeks were marked with tear streaks. His nose was dripping clear snot all over his mouth and chin. But as soon as Dorea was in sight, the boy stopped crying and looked straight at her. There wasn't any doubt that it was her son's baby. If not for the bright green eyes, she could have sworn it was James born again. She was astonished when he held his hand out to her and asked, "Mama ?" in a trembling voice.

Her voice was soft, even if she was certain the baby wasn't really talking to her. "I'm sorry, little man. Your Mama will not come anymore."

"Nooo," the boy's voice was forlorn as he wailed. "No, Mama come. Mama come..."

A roaring sound filled her ears when she realised that she wasn't hallucinating. The toddler had seen her, heard her and answered her. It was her son's son and he didn't seem to understand that she wasn't exactly here. It didn't matter so much that he was a half-blood — though it really would have been better if her grandson had been a pureblood, what in Merlin's name had James been thinking ! — because he was still of Black blood and apparently he would be her link with the living world.

Elladora, Belvina, Charis and Cedrella suddenly appeared into the room. Dorea wasn't that surprised about it. She had felt the blood call more strongly because she was a direct relative to the little boy who seemed to be at the centre of it, but the other Black women had felt it too and had apparently followed it.

She turned towards them and gave a wistful smile. "Ladies, may I introduce you to my grandson, James' son ?" In response to their disbelieving stares, she added, "I believe he's the one sending the blood call we felt."

"How is that possible ?" Belvina asked, utterly gobsmacked. "I thought your son was a Light wizard. He wouldn't have wedded a Dark witch, especially one who could work blood magic. And the baby is too young to do it, either."

"And who exactly is his mother ?" Elladora asked, keen to know more.

Cedrella, being more recently dead, said, "James' marriage was quite a scandal, as I recall. At least in pureblood society. Because he wedded a little upstart Mudblood just after leaving school." Elladora pursed her lips in disapproval at the answer.

Charis was distracted by the baby who was sniffing sadly but asked, "And what's the little tyke's name ?" She didn't wait for an answer before making faces at the little boy. She rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. She reared back in amazement when the boy giggled. "What the..."

"Oh yes," Dorea grinned as she was about to share the most stunning news of the evening, "apparently he can see us. And hear us. He talked to me about his Mama."

Hearing that word again, the baby turned towards his grandmother and said again, "Mama come ?" Tears flowed out of his eyes again. "Mama ? Mama sing ?" His face scrunched up as he began crying again. Charis approached the crib again and proceeded to sing an old pureblood lullaby she knew to hush him up.

The other women went silent, as several voices could be heard downstairs.

***

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and chief war leader against Voldemort, and his colleague in the very secret organisation of the Order of the Phoenix Auror Alastor Moody had entered the lobby and found with growing dismay the body of the young James Potter. Moody, whose nickname was Mad-Eye — since an insane criminal had dug out his right eye with his bare hands while resisting arrest, he had opted for a magical eye that could see through nearly everything over healing through Mediwizardry — was scanning the downstairs rooms with a revolving blue eye and quickly reported to the older man.

"Nothing unusual, Albus." His voice was raspy. "Seems to me James was greatly outnumbered. Significant number of spell impacts on his body and on the left wall. Position of the body indicates he took a stand here, to protect the access to the upper level." Moody rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Pity. He was a good Auror."

"Thank you, Alastor." The Headmaster's face was impassible. James Potter had been a favourite of his when he was in school, but the war against Voldemort had seen the death toll go through the ceiling. So many horrors — families and friends dead, tortured or simply missing — had happened in the last few months that now Potter was only one more casualty. "Do you see anything else ? What about upstairs ?"

The magical eye spun rapidly as the Auror focused on the ceiling and he said, "Body of a woman upstairs, in the nursery. Nothing else to report." He cleared his throat and gasped, "Wait ! Wait, there's a movement. Movement in the nursery, I don't identify it yet."

"The Potters have a baby boy," Dumbledore said dispassionately, " do you think that can be him ?"

"It's possible, Albus." Moody walked to the stairs and strained to listen to any suspicious noise. A gurgling sound and twittering syllables could be heard and the man confirmed the Headmaster's guess. "Yes, sounds like the baby is still alive."

Both men headed upstairs, the wooden stairs creaking under their heavy steps. The door of the yellow nursery had been blasted open and they saw the body in front of the crib. Albus informed his partner of her identity.

"This is Lily Evans," he said, "James' wife." Lily had been a vivacious and smart young lady and had distinguished herself at Hogwarts by being friendly to people in all Houses, including Slytherin. For several years, her best friend had been Slytherin Severus Snape before the two had a falling out. Dumbledore had suspected young Snape had turned too Dark for Lily and his impression had been confirmed when Snape accepted the Dark Mark from Voldemort. The boy had repented and sought him, unofficial leader of the Light, for redemption. Redemption he didn't obtained, but Dumbledore — as would a Catholic priest — had set the boy's penance and sent him back into the fray as a spy. "Lily is... was Muggleborn, so that may have been a motive for this attack."

Moody corked an eyebrow and asked, "Are you sure, Albus ? Isn't it more probable that —"

"— Yes, of course. Their baby fits the prophecy." The old man took his glasses from his nose, wiped them with the sleeve of his robe and put them back on, giving his eyes an odd twinkle. He smiled a little before adding, "And their son is alive, just like young Neville. But the coincidence stops here, because Voldemort attacked the Longbottoms early last evening and fell there. He was never here. This tragedy is the doing of his followers."

He looked at the baby boy in the crib. The toddler's face was red and his eyes weepy. Snot was dripping from his nose. Nevertheless he was calm and the Headmaster saw him smile shyly, raise his hand and babble. Obviously, the boy was fine and he dismissed him from his thoughts. Turning back to Moody, he asked : "As an Auror, who would you say attacked this house ?"

"The number of assailants was at least four, maybe five." The Auror had examined every clue found on the scene, both downstairs and upstairs. "The attack on James was very well orchestrated, by a group that is used to work together. Considering what we know about the Death Eaters, I'd say without a doubt that it's the Lestranges. Bellatrix is well-known for the intensity of her Cruciatus and both Rodolphus and Rabastan use Cutting curses extensively. The fourth is probably Lucius Malfoy, as Bellatrix would undoubtedly call on her brother-in-law. I don't know who the fifth could be, if there was indeed a fifth assailant."

Dumbledore hummed a little and said : "I suppose your guess is accurate, my friend. And I may help you with your fifth attacker." He put a finger across his lips to indicate secrecy and gave the Auror a hint. "The Potters' house was actually under Fidelius."

Moody looked outraged and growled : "A Fidelius ? Then their Secret Keeper was a traitor and let the Death Eaters know about their hiding place !" Indignation distorted his features. "Well, I know Potter had a small clique when he was at Hogwarts, but I'm not sure I could remember their names... Except for Black ! Sirius Black is his best friend, and he's in the Order too ! He could have betrayed us and —"

"Alastor," Dumbledore interrupted the Auror with a low but serious voice, "Sirius Black was the Potter’s son’s godfather and he died yesterday afternoon, defending Alice Longbottom."

"Well," Moody grumbled, "may he rest in peace, then." He focused on his memories and exclaimed, "Another of them is Dark, yes ! His name is something like Lupin, I believe and there was something wrong with him, something Dark !"

"You're right, Alastor," Dumbledore nodded, "Remus Lupin is a good friend of James Potter. However, I believe his alibi is impeccable, as he is currently detained in Ministry custody for being a werewolf." As Moody crowed in triumph, the older man added, "I've been trying to free him for several months now, without success. He’s still a prisoner..."

The Auror's shoulders slumped in defeat. He said : "Merlin, Albus... Are you sure there was a fifth attacker ? Maybe the Secret Keeper was tortured into revealing the information or if he was a traitor, he didn't come with the others ?" Moody furrowed his brows and muttered, "The only other person I could think of is the short rat-like boy who was always trailing after James... Pettigrew, wasn't it ?"

Dumbledore gave a mysterious smirk and nodded. Moody shook his head in denial, but the Headmaster said, "It was a great misdirection, to use Peter — who no one ever notices or remembers — as Secret Keeper." The Auror looked disgruntled and groaned, but let the older man go on. "Peter always wanted to be recognised, he wanted to have power, he wanted to be great... but his Gryffindor friends took him for granted. I suspected that he was drawn to powerful wizards, but I never had an inkling that he could turn to the Dark." Dumbledore sighed. "So the intended misdirection backfired badly."

"You're not really omniscient, Albus," Moody snorted in derision. "Tell me how you would know all this ?"

"Ah, my friend, I could never fool you." He laughed softly, his silvery beard twitching. "Peter Pettigrew is an Animagus. He can transform into a rat, like James could into a stag and Sirius into a dog. They trained to keep company to their werewolf friend."

Moody nodded knowingly as the puzzling situation became clear and said, "Yes, I can see the pawprints of a very small mammal fleeing the scene."

Dumbledore put his hand on his companion's shoulder and said to the Auror to return to the Ministry to file his report, mentioning by name the four known Death Eaters and the suspected one. He raised his wand, cast a bright phoenix Patronus to carry a message — "Professor McGonagall, I am taking care of a minor issue and will be back to the castle in an hour" — and sent it towards the window. He then turned towards the crib and addressed the little boy for the first time.

"Well, young Harry James Potter," he chuckled, "let's take care of you..."

***

The five Black women had been surprised at the intrusion of the two living men and wondered what they were doing here. Charis kept singing and entertaining the baby boy, while the others eavesdropped shamelessly into the conversation.

"Well," Belvina said, with a disapproving pout, "neither of them seem to be aggrieved by the loss of human life. Dumbledore is just meddling as usual. The man is a crackpot ! And he didn't notice the toddler yet, because Merlin forbid the great Vanquisher of Grindelwald actually does something useful, like a rescue mission, instead of coming inspect the damage after the facts !" She was fuming.

Cedrella answered, "The old man killed Grindelwald, so give him a little bit of respect !"

"Killed him ?" Belvina was incredulous. "He didn't kill him at all. He tricked him, ambushed him and then locked him away in Nurmengard, Grindelwald's own Dark fortress. Of course, with that Dark Lord gone, Dumbledore was able to spin the story just as he liked ! But I heard from Uncle Phineas that the two of them were some teenage chums and were only separated by some kind of tragedy that happened. Something like the death of the younger sibling of Dumbledore," Cedrella was grinding her teeth, but didn't say anything. "By the way, you know that Dumbledore's motto 'For the Greater Good' is also the motto of Grindelwald Dark campaign, right ? 'Für das höhere Wohl'... Those powerful wizards, Light or Dark, they're all the same in the end !"

Cedrella sputtered and began to scream angry denials when Elladora shushed both of them. "They're coming upstairs..."

The two men went on talking without paying any attention to the baby. Snippets of the discussion surprised, annoyed, angered or frightened the Black women.

"What's this about a prophecy ?" Elladora asked, without expecting an answer.

"The Lestranges ?! But Bellatrix is a Black !" Dorea exclaimed. "Lucius Malfoy ?! He married Narcissa, she's a Black too ! Why would they attack and kill my son, even if he's a Light wizard ?"

Charis turned her head at the next piece of news. "Sirius is dead ?" She sniffed then lowered her voice in order to not disturb the calmed baby. "The Black family has been decimated. His brother Regulus disappeared two years ago."

Hearing about the betrayal of the Secret Keeper, Elladora spat, "That's Gryffindors for you !"

Belvina looked at the magnificent phoenix Patronus with goggly eyes but scowled when she heard the message. "So a baby is a minor issue, isn’t it ? If I could curse you, Dumbledore, I would ! For you are truly a despicable character !"

And finally, Dorea looked at her companions with tears in her eyes and said, "His name is Harry James Potter, did you hear ?" The others nodded and smiled. "He's too little to understand much yet, but I'm following him wherever Dumbledore decides to take him. And I'll see to his education in our traditions." Elladora smiled. "May I count on you when the times comes ?"

The other four women acquiesced and Dorea waved as she walked into the limbo, following his grandson and the blood call he was sending. Harry will be a Black, she thought. This was the beginning of her new life, or at least afterlife.


	2. The Boy Who Talked To The Dead

Mr and Mrs Dursley, in their suburban house at 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, were completely unaware that some tragedy had befallen their family. Of course, it was because the Potters weren't acknowledged as part of their family at all. Mrs Lily Potter was the sister of Mrs Petunia Dursley and after she explained how strange and freakish her little sister was, how their parents favoured her in place of serious, down-to-earth Petunia and how she would be happy never to see her again, Vernon Dursley had decreed that the Potters would simply be ignored to the best of their ability.

Vernon was a middle-ranking executive at a firm called Grunnings that manufactured and sold drills. He had every hope he would be promoted to senior management very soon, as his performances at work were very good. Old Mr Grunning had an eye out for extraordinary employees like him, because he wanted to retire in the next few years. If he played well, Vernon could be executive director of his firm. What prestige !

Petunia was a stay-at-home mother since the birth of her baby boy a year and a half earlier. She was delighted to take care of the toddler, who was big and tall for his age, and to be truthful quite a handful. She prepared home-cooked meals for him, went for a walk in the park where she let him stretch his chubby legs running after other kids and cuddled him. Her life was very simple, but she was very happy.

In conclusion, the Dursleys were a happy family until November first 1981, when an old man with a long grey beard in a purple bathrobe knocked on their door with a small dark-haired toddler in his arms. Explanations were succinct and hard to understand.

"My dear Mr and Mrs Dursley, my name is Albus Dumbledore and I am Hogwarts' Headmaster," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled madly, "I believe you recognise that name, Petunia." The woman sniffed in disdain and turned her head away. "Well, I am unfortunately here to deliver some sad news. James and Lily Potter were killed earlier today, and their son Harry is now an orphan. You are his only family —"

Dorea, already fuming at the old man's intent to abandon a magical baby into a Muggle household, shouted at Dumbledore, "You retarded old goat, you will not leave my grandson into the care of these... these Muggles ! There are still Blacks out there, who would foster him and shelter him and teach him how to live like a wizard ! Harry may be a half-blood, but it's not a reason to raise him like a Mudblood ! You are senile !"

The baby had been sleeping peacefully, wrapped into a blue baby blanket, but the screams only he could hear woke him violently and he began to cry.

"— it is therefore your duty to take care of your nephew, welcome him into your family and raise him like he was your son." Dumbledore finished his speech and held the squirming and crying burden towards the Dursleys.

"We already have a son, sir," Vernon answered politely but firmly, "and no desire to have another. You should bring this baby to the authorities. I'm sure he could be adopted by a nice family. But he isn't welcome here, we frown upon such way of life as is your kind's." Petunia nodded to show her agreement with her husband's position. Indeed, she agreed emphatically. Her own childhood had been disrupted by 'magical' incidents provoked by her sister and she refused to let the same thing happen to her son.

Dumbledore answered as if he hadn't heard the couple's arguments, "Well, I'm afraid I cannot stay any longer." He delicately put the baby down on the sofa and bid the bewildered family goodbye. "I'm certain you'll take good care of your nephew. Farewell." And with a noisy crack, he disappeared from the Dursley's living room.

Vernon and Petunia looked completely flabbergasted at the gall of this stranger making them responsible for a toddler boy they didn't know and didn't want. The old man had brought no clothes, no nappies, no furniture, nothing to take care of the additional baby. 

A loud cry from their own boy, Dudley, informed them that the little tyke had woken up. It was time to feed him, wash him and go on a walk to the park.

"Take care of our son, Pet," Vernon said in a tired voice, "and I'll try to find a solution to get rid of your sister's freaky baby." He sighed. "For the moment, I guess the cupboard under the stairs is good enough."

***

Dorea was horrified as she saw the large Muggle with a big moustache putting up a small cot in the small cupboard under the stairs. He didn't clean the spiderwebs sticking in the corners, he didn't clear out the cleaning supplies that were stored in there and in fact he didn't make the least effort to transform this little cupboard into a child-friendly room. No that she thought a cupboard was any kind of room appropriate for a child. The situation was disgraceful and Muggles had obviously no common sense.

Dorea protested loudly when she saw her grandson put down the cot without care and the door slammed and locked.

Overwhelmed by the situation, she screamed at the Muggle, "You are the worst example of your kind ! What sort of horrible pig are you to shut away a small child who just lost his parents ! You should be proud, proud to be related to Harry Potter, as he is a descendant of Black blood and we are the cream of wizarding society ! Your behaviour deserves nothing less than the worst curses in existence and if I was alive I would Crucio you until your mind snapped ! I hate you, Muggle, I hate you !"

She had forgotten that, though the Muggle couldn't hear or see her, her shrieking diatribe could be heard by her little grandson. Harry heard a voice raised in anger and pain and began crying softly. The screams made him very afraid. He was alone, in a dark room that smelt a little bad ; he was cold and his nappy was wet ; his Mama and Dadda weren't here with him ; and where were his plushies ?

Harry cried harder, calling for his Mama, until he was screaming himself hoarse. Dorea passed through the door and tried to calm him. She regretted her outburst a bit, as it had been completely useless and had obviously frightened the little boy.

Remembering how Charis had soothed the toddler with a soft song, she began to hum a Muggle lullaby that she vaguely remembered hearing when she was younger and daring enough to go against her family wishes and marry Charlus Potter.

Rockabye baby, on the treetops  
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock  
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall  
And down will come baby, cradle and all…

Realising what the lyrics were, she blanched as the horrible fate she had sung to her little grandson. But Harry had calmed down and was gurgling. So she sang it again, making a quick sign to ward evil, until Harry sank into sleep.

***

Years passed, slowly, with little Harry in his cupboard under the stairs. It was rare that he was let out to play or to see the sun, but he had company all the same. He learnt to speak with a very low voice, as his answers and questions to the shades that accompanied him had resulted in him being deprived of food and cuffed on the head for being a freak. As time went by, the shades of the Black women also learnt to appear to Harry when he was alone, in his little cupboard.

Harry was from this early age educated in the Black traditions. They were various and numerous, and each shade, which Harry took to calling each Miss as a mark of respect, had her own speciality.

Belvina, Miss Vinnie as Harry called her, gave lessons in manners and deportment. She taught Harry to speak properly, the Queen’s English, even though she didn’t give much thought about the Muggle British royalty. Harry learnt to stand upright, without hunching his shoulders or lowering his head, despite the hissed threats of his Uncle Vernon to remember his station in life, that of an foundling living on the charity of his relatives.

Charis, Miss Charie, wasn’t one for lessons. She taught Harry the genealogy of the Black family by telling all sort of tall tales about the members. How Phineas became Headmaster of Hogwarts by winning the post in a duel, how Sirius the first had never played Quidditch, the broom sport wizards favoured, in spite of being one of the fastest flyer of his time, how Lycoris wasn’t among the shades despite being on the family tree. Her specialty was gossip and Harry loved the animate stories she told. Nevertheless as soon as he began primary school, she decided to teach him plants and potions, or at least poisons, as it was her own speciality.

Cedrella, Miss Cedie, countered some of the influence of the other shades by talking about the Light side of the world, the deeds of great wizards like Dumbledore and his defeat of the Dark Lord Grindelwald who had threatened the entire world by involving the Muggle Hitler in his course of making the wizarding world pure. She was the only one who disagreed with the motto of the family ‘Toujours Pur’ because she said Harry, as a half-blood was proof a Black could be extraordinary while not being pure. Harry cried when she told him this, because he wanted more than anything to be a true Black, and being pure was important.

Dorea, Miss Dorie, told Harry about his father and grandfather, so that he knew where he came from. She couldn’t talk about his mother, as she hadn’t known her well, only as a silly crush of her son, one she had hoped who pass soon enough for him to marry a pureblooded girl from a good family. But her stories were lessons as well. Her son had been spoiled and the reality of the war had never really made any effect on his bravado and his belief that he would live forever. She preferred Harry to be outwardly kind to his allies and inferiors, and discreetly ruthless against his enemies. 

Walburga, Miss Wallie (she didn’t like being called that by a filthy little half-blood, but then she didn’t like anything much and spent most of her time in her portrait, shrieking and shouting at her old House-Elf Kreacher) who died in 1985, didn’t teach Harry anything. She came rarely and insulted him, until the other shades ganged on her and drove her away.

Elladora, Miss Ellie, came rarely as well until Harry began to show accidental magic. He turned the hair of one of his mean teacher blue and once apparated on the roof of his school to escape the pursuit of Dudley, Piers Polkiss and their gang. Once the magic of Harry was strong enough, Miss Ellie began to train Harry in Latin and in the speciality magic of the Black : blood magic. Even blood curses. Harry wasn’t afraid, he was very passionate about learning anything that concerned magic, even though he knew he couldn’t talk about it with anyone else alive. At least, not yet.

He knew that one day, when he reached the age of eleven, he would finally go to Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

***

Aunt Petunia banged on the door of the cupboard, flushing out a couple of spiders from the cracks near the ceiling. Harry startled, as he had been relegated to his little room at the beginning of the afternoon. It was hot and a bit sweltering, but at least the Dursleys left him alone. Miss Dorie and Miss Charie had come by earlier and told stories of the Black family.

"Get out ! Out, boy !" Aunt Petunia shrieked.

Harry stood up, bending his neck so he wouldn't hit his head on the exposed beams supporting the stairs above him and opened the door. He could see the coffee table in the living room. It was dressed with a nice table cloth embroidered with patterns of blue forget-me-nots. There were several plates of little sandwiches and little cupcakes. The china tea service was displayed. Apparently Petunia was receiving guests and Harry knew what was coming. Every time there were guests in the house he was no longer welcome, not even silent and locked in his cupboard.

"The ladies from the Gardening Club are coming at five and they will luckily not leave before nine. My gathering will not be spoilt by a freakish little boy lurking into my house," Aunt Petunia sneered. "So you're leaving. Go to the park or wherever really. Do what other eight-years-old do in their free time. Don't come back until ten. Don't expect dinner."

Petunia then pushed Harry between the shoulders towards the front door and propelled him outside.

Used to his aunt’s peremptory orders, Harry left the house with the sun already setting down, leaving the sky a beautiful orange colour. He walked slowly around the area until he arrived at the small park where he liked to play when his cousin Dudley wasn’t there.

He sat on one of the swings, the one that cracked when he rocked too hard. He waited. He was sure one of the shades would come and speak to him. He didn’t care about the topic as long as he wasn’t alone because the dark was beginning to invade every shred of light there was amongst the children’s toys, the bushes and the trees in the park.

Unfortunately for him, it was Miss Wallie who appeared. Miss Wallie was always angry with him and never kind.

“What are you dirty filth doing outside at this hour?” She shrieked, her voice going louder and louder with every word. “Shouldn’t you be in your cosy little closet, like the vermin you are? Defiling the name of Black by living and consorting with Muggles, like a Muggle yourself! Going to this tawdry Muggle school to learn about the inferior race that isn’t yours!” It didn’t seem to matter that Harry had no choice in attending school. “But it is half yours, isn’t it? What with your mother a dirty Mudblood who whored herself to a Light family!” The insult stung because Harry had no idea if it was true or not, but he had heard it too many times to react with impulsive behaviour. He had learnt the valuable lesson to keep an indifferent mask with Miss Wallie. “Shame on Dorea to have birthed a son who would besmirch the purity of our family…”

Miss Wallie could speak for hours and hours without interruption. She didn’t require answers or even attention. Harry thought she just liked the sound of her voice too much.

That’s why Harry didn’t hear the man come behind the swings and approach slowly. Miss Wallie was still bemoaning the fate of the Black House with one of her son a blood traitor and his godson no better than a Mudblood.

A rough hand suddenly on this mouth, Harry tried to cry out and shout. He struggled hard, kicking his feet and hands, but the man was too big and tall for it to have any effect.

“Don’t move, pretty, I won’t hurt you too bad,” a rugged voice said in his ear.

Miss Wallie had fallen silent, in shock that a Muggle would dare attack one of the Blacks, even one so insignificant and weak as Harry.

The man dragged Harry towards the thick bushes that surrounded the playground as Harry still squirmed and twisted to free himself. The boy received a heavy blow to the head that left him dazed and woozy, unable to fight anymore.

His body was thrown to the ground, on his stomach and Harry moaned in pain. His mouth filled with dirt and soil which he tried to spit, but the man pressed Harry’s head to the ground to keep him still with one hand, while the other tore at the too large trousers Harry wore.

Miss Wallie found her shrill voice again : “No, you Muggle filthy scum, you will not defile Black blood with your base perversions!” She approached, grey and incorporeal, and tried to pull the man away from Harry, her hands gliding through the arms of the attacker.

Harry was nearly unconscious, as he could barely breathe and his head was bleeding from the blow he had received.

As the man leaned over Harry’s body and a piercing pain woke Harry up, Miss Wallie whispered near Harry’s ear : “Black blessings be on you, child. Ignesco hostis cruor.”

And Harry repeated, his voice weak and muffled : “Ignesco hostis cruor.” It wasn’t a curse he was familiar with, but he recognised the Latin word cruor for blood. At least, Miss Ellie had taught him that much.

The man fell down on his back, his hands trying to tear away this clothes while smoke rose from his body. His mouth was wide open to scream but not a sound could be heard. He writhed in agony, as his skin darkened while his blood literally burned inside his body. After a few minutes, he stopped moving and Miss Wallie said, with a certain satisfaction in her tone : “He’s dead now.”

“Thank you, Miss Wallie.” Harry said in a deadened voice.

The bells of the church of Little Whinging sounded eight o’clock. Harry had two more hours before he could go back to the Dursley house. He fixed up this trousers, used an old handkerchief to dab at his head wound and sat down the swing where he had first rocked himself into patience. This time, he didn’t move, his backside burning with a stinging pain. He looked straight ahead, not paying attention to Miss Wallie who had stayed beside him, for once completely silent, as a guard.

Harry waited for two hours, dirty and bloodied. He could smell the stench of cooked flesh coming from the bushes. He could still smell the fetid breath of the man against his cheek and ear. He felt as if everything that had happened to him that night was his fault, for not being Black enough.

During this two hours, he promised himself he would take his lessons to heart instead of light stories to comfort him in his loneliness and learn how to be a true Black. After all, a Black spell had saved his life, if not his purity. No one would best him ever again. No one would every beat him again.

***

Miss Charie was the one who ebulliently woke Harry up on the morning of the thirty-first of July 1991 by singing him a joyous birthday and reminding him of the letter he would receive this day.

Harry yawned and whispered : “I know, Miss Charie. Hogwarts letters always come on the birthday of the lucky wizard or witch. But what am I going to do about the Dursleys?”

“Your relatives are a bunch of —” she stopped herself from saying more as she had often been chastised by the other shades for her crude and inappropriate language in front of a young boy of eleven. “Your relatives are of no matter. You will receive your letter and you will go to Hogwarts.” Her tone was very final.

Miss Dorie appeared in the cupboard and jostled with Miss Charie for her place before asking : “Then Harry, ready for your big day? A happy birthday to you and may you have many more. And soon the Hogwarts letter will find itself in your hands and you will escape this Muggle hovel for good, I hope.”

Harry prepared to answer but fell silent as noise began to infiltrate his cupboard. The heavy steps of his uncle slowly descending the stairs, dislodging little scraps of plaster and paint that fell into Harry’s hair. The shrill voice of her aunt calling her son to breakfast. The shouted response of Dudley and the stampede that followed.

Harry could smell toasts and bacon and eggs. His stomach rumbled but he pushed his hands over it to stifle the sound.

The doorbell rang.

Harry heard his aunt stand up and go open the door.

“We don’t need —” she began to say before gasping. “What are you doing here? We don’t want any of this freak business in the house. You have to leave!”

“What is it, Pet?” his uncle asked from the kitchen.

An imperious voice answered : “I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have come to deliver Hogwarts acceptance letter to your nephew, Harry Potter, who has been on the register since shortly after his birth.

“Where is he? In the kitchen, having breakfast with your family?” Sharp steps could be heard while Petunia desperately tried to block her unwelcome visitor.

“Where is he?” The witch repeated. No one gave her an answer, but Vernon started to turn purple and to bluster about freaks invading his house and Dudley started to ask all sort of questions about the odd dress of the older woman in front of them.

Harry felt more than he heard the magic being called into action when the witch uttered : “Point Me Harry Potter.” He knew her wand would point directly at the door of the cupboard under the stairs. Though he had nothing to be ashamed of — he had done nothing wrong at all — he blushed slightly at the idea of being seen in such a deplorable room which only decoration was an old drawing of Harry stating ‘Harry’s Room’, with such ill-fitting clothes and so little belongings.

Miss Dorie said quickly : “I remember McGonagall from my days as a girl, she was a young Transfiguration teacher, a Gryffindor, but such a lion mother that she’ll be outraged on your behalf. It could be useful.”

“What have you done to the poor child, Mr and Mrs Dursley, that he is hiding into this cupboard?” The witch asked with anger tinged in her voice.

Miss Charie mouthed ‘Say something’. And for the first time, Harry answered in a loud voice : “I’m not hiding, I’m staying in my room until I’m allowed out.”

The door was blasted open and Harry sat there in his old and dirty cot inside the closet. He looked up at the witch and said, as if the situation was the most normal in the world : “Hello Mrs McGonagall, welcome to the Dursley house.” He stood up, bending his head so as to not bang it on the rafters of the staircase above him. He extended his hand and asked : “May I have my letter, now?”

The morning after that was quite terrible, as nothing could calm down Vernon and Petunia, not even the threat of accidental magic bigger and scarier that had already happened, even if they were pretty sure Harry was responsible for the mysterious death of a vagabond in the park three years earlier. They refused to have him learn more of his hocus pocus and return to their house every year to terrify them with it.

Minerva McGonagall gave them an ugly stare — if looks could flay someone alive, then surely the Dursleys would be writhing in pain right now — and said :

“I will contact the Muggle social services and the Magical Children’s Division to open a full investigation of what happened in this house. This ‘hocus pocus’, as you call it, will follow you to trial and I hope to prison for child abuse and neglect. This is not acceptable.

“Come with me, Mr Potter. We must see to your preparations for Hogwarts.” She gave him a little golden key and added : “Your parents weren’t rich, but there is a vault in Gringotts under their names, which should help you buy what you need for you school years at least.”

Turning to the huddled family of Muggles, she concluded : “This isn’t over.”

Miss Dorie and Miss Charie cackled.

***

Professor Mc Gonagall put her hand over young Harry Potter’s shoulders and he shuddered, unused to touch. Harry could sense her hesitation in beginning a conversation when she didn’t know what he knew and when the morning had begun as a battle.

“May I see my letter now, Mrs McGonagall?” He asked in a low voice.

“Oh, of course, Mr Potter,” she said with her cheeks blushing slightly as she had forgotten to give the acceptance letter to the young boy. She held the thick envelope.

Harry read the acceptance letter, then the list of requirements. Everything was as he expected. He folded them carefully and put it in one of his pockets.

Miss Dorie glided through the walls of the house. She hadn’t had time to prepare Harry adequately as she hadn’t thought someone would come with the letter, as Harry wasn’t a Muggleborn but there were things she had to say before the Deputy Headmistress whisked the boy away wherever she was going.

“Harry, don’t let the Professor come with you to your vault in Gringotts. That’s private and school staff has no place in knowing about your finances. Also, try not to let her bully you into patronising the shops she thinks are appropriate as we Blacks have our own habits —”

Professor McGonagall was speaking at the same time : “If you’re ready, Mr Potter, we’ll Apparate to Diagon Alley, which is the commercial wizarding district in London and join a group of other children who need guidance, just like you, for their entry in the wizarding world.”

“— and don’t let her mingle you with all those Mudbloods, you’re better than that, you’re a Black by blood, for Merlin’s sake,” Miss Dorie finished.

Professor McGonagall was already taking Harry’s hand and stating instructions about Apparition and with a loud pop, they were gone.

They appeared in front of a dingy little pub called ‘The Leaky Cauldron’, which the Professor explained was warded with Muggle-repelling charms to keep any unwanted visitors away. They entered, Harry walking gingerly on the dirtied ground amongst a crowd of excitable children and their lost-looking parents.

“Now that we are complete,” Professor McGonagall declared, “we may begin our visit to Diagon Alley, where you will find our bank to change your Muggle money into wizarding money and our shops where you will buy the equipment necessary for the education of your children.”

She led them towards the other end of the pub, nodding briskly to the bartender, and pushed the door that opened on a dark alley with a large brick wall. She tapped a sequence with her wands on specific stones and the wall opened to the Alley. It was large, brightly lit and colourful, with people walking dressed in the weird fashion of Professor McGonagall in a variety of tones, from flashy to pastel, with high-ended hats like the witches of fairy tales.

Every child but Harry was fascinated, and some of them were openly gaping their awe.

“First, Gringotts,” Professor McGonagall said. “Our bank is an ancient institution which is managed by goblins, a race of magical creatures that consider gold and metal more precious than life. They may seem discourteous to you, but please don’t take it personally. I believe the goblins take your Muggle saying ‘Time is money’ quite literally.” While she spoke, she led them to a large white building with columns supporting the enormous stone roof. “In you go.” She gestured the Muggle parents to a cubbyhole marked ‘Exchange’ and turned to Harry. “Would you like me to go with you, Mr Potter?”

Harry was a bit pale. Tales of goblins couldn’t compare with the fact of seeing them for the first time, but he inhale sharply and drew his courage. He said : “No need, Professor. I believe finances are private. If you’ll just indicate to me which way I should go?”

The Professor was a bit surprised but didn’t insist.

A goblin named Griphook introduced himself and quickly examined the little golden key Harry presented. Griphook made a gesture of following to the young boy and they used a cart to reach the Potter vault. Miss Dorie appeared midway through the journey in the goblin tunnel and began talking, even though Harry couldn’t answer right now.

“Make sure to have an accounting of the vault once you’re there. It’s important to know how much you have to determine how much you spend, though Charlus left a hefty sum to James when he died and my dowry went with it as well, it should be at least one hundred and fifty thousands Galleons. Even if James has spent some of it before his death, it was only four years. It’s largely enough to see you through school and life without any kind of money problem, as befit a Black. But the sooner you’ll learn to manage your financial affairs, the better you will be.”

The cart stopped. “Vault number seven-four-seven. Potter vault. Use your key in the imprint to enter,” Griphook said.

Harry put the key into the imprint and the vault opened. There was a small amount of golden coins, in a pile, and a few silver and bronze ones. Nothing to indicate the small fortune Miss Dorie had talked about. It was a bit of a shock. Turning to the goblin, Harry asked : “May I have a current accounting of the vault please?”

Griphook answered : “There are six thousand eight hundred and forty-four Galleons, six Sickles and three Knuts.”

Miss Dorie screeched in rage. She was infuriated, not with Gringotts which was a venerable and honest institution, but with her irresponsible and reckless son who had apparently dilapidated the family fortune in a measly four years, leaving his only son with only scraps.

Harry began to count what he would need. Seven Galleons for the wand, at least twenty or thirty for a good second-hand trunk, ten to fifteen for the books, maybe twenty for the robes and uniforms if he could find them in the used section of a second hand shop and another thirty for miscellaneous things like cauldron, vials, brass scales, ingredients and telescope. More than a hundred Galleons. Thank Merlin Hogwarts was tuition-free for every magical child born in Britain.

Harry asked for a bank pouch, which was the safest way to transport money according to Miss Dorie, and carefully put one hundred and fifty Galleons inside.

He thanked the goblin and up they went back into the lobby of the bank.

Professor McGonagall was already waiting with the rest of the group and led them to the Alley so that they could all purchase what was needed. She indicated Flourish and Blotts for books, Madam Malkin’s for robes and uniforms, Slug and Jiggers for potion equipment and Ollivander’s for wands.

Harry took the pause following her speech to tell her he would buy the required equipment separately. As Professor McGonagall protested, Harry turned red and muttered : “As I’ve said before, financial matters are private, Professor.” The woman scowled but didn’t insist again.

***

Miss Dorie disappeared for a few seconds before reappearing with Miss Cedie in tow. It was true that as a Weasley by marriage, Miss Cedie was best equipped to know who to spend money wisely and conservatively. She would probably know second-hand shops well, which Miss Dorie didn’t.

“Let’s head to Peripher Alley, dear,” she said to Harry. “You’ll find most of what you need there, except for the wand, which only Ollivander’s will have.” She thought to herself for a second. “Let’s head for Ollivander’s first, then the side alley.”

Miss Dorie added : “You shouldn’t talk to much to Ollivander, Harry, the old man is… special. He knows things he shouldn’t know.” Harry listened and nodded his head.

Harry entered the wand shop which seemed empty at first. Then an old man appeared as if out of nowhere — but most likely from beneath the shelves — and said :

“Harry Potter, I remember the days I sold the wands to your parents. I remember every wand I ever sold…”

Harry stayed silent.

“Well, let’s see what will suit you, then, young Mr Potter.” The man rummaged through a drawer and found a measuring tape which began to move on its own to measure everything about Harry. Harry stayed immobile as the tape turned and stretched all around him. 

Mr Ollivander finally said : “I believe I have the perfect wand for you, Mr Potter.” He turned to take a dusty old box from a large stack of dusty old boxes and presented it to Harry. “Blackthorn with dragon heartstring, eight inches, quite short really, and very rigid.” His piercing blue eyes looked at Harry with a knowing expression. “Try it, give it a wave.”

Harry took it in his left hand and immediately felt a connection establishing with the wand. It was warm, soft, encompassing. It was home. He gave it a wave and a rain of red and silver sparks shooted from the tip of the wand.

“What did I tell you, Mr Potter? Perfect.” Mr Ollivander looked very satisfied. “Seven galleons, please.”

Harry counted the Galleons and put them on the counter. He kept the wand in his hand and exited the shop without having uttered a single word.

Following Miss Cedie, he walked towards Peripher Alley, the poorer side alley of Diagon Alley where he would bargain for his equipment and hope for the best.

There were dingy stalls and hagglers all over the side alley, selling food, potions ingredients and trinkets. Nothing really useful to Harry and he turned to Miss Cedie with a questioning gaze.

“We’ll go to Woodson’s, dear. That’s at the end of the alley. You can see it from here, it’s the monstrous warehouse where everyone who has something worth selling tries to pay for a stall so that everything is in the same place.”

Woodson’s had a large wooden panel advertising Wood & Sons, but common folk had taken to call it Woodson’s for some obscure reason.

The warehouse was packed with dozens and dozens of people, poorly dressed, mostly shouting and crying out at the outrageous prices proposed by the merchants. If not for Miss Cedie’s steadying presence, Harry would have turned back.

“Trunks are in the back, as are most of school children’s supplies,” Miss Cedie said. “Come with me, and try not to gawk too much, it will attract attention. Bad enough you’re in Muggle clothes.” The remark was a bit out of character from Miss Cedie who was, according to the other shades, the wife of a blood traitor, a man who would have liked to open the wizarding world to Muggles instead of abiding by the Statute of Secrecy decreed centuries ago after the dreadful witches’ hunts.

Harry found three trunk stalls with all sorts of trunks piled up haphazardly. He quickly eliminated one stall for being too expensive for his budget and concentrated on looking over the accessible trunks in the other two stalls. The owners were peering at him suspiciously. Harry’s attention was lured by a whining sound coming from a small black trunk that seemed quite old and in disrepair. That’s when he saw the shade of an odd creature with large ears and grey skin, who seemed to be lamenting itself.

Miss Cedie saw it too. “An Elf-bound trunk! That’s a treasure for someone like you, Harry!”

“What’s an Elf-bound trunk, Miss Cedie?” Harry asked, curious but careful to cover his mouth as he spoke softly.

“A long time ago,” Miss Cedie began her tale, as Harry pretended to examine different trunks for their solidity and their prices, “ a family dabbling in death magic — I’m sure you know which family I’m talking about — decided to bound the spirits of some house elves into trunks so that the elf would take care of everything inside it, like it took care of everything inside a house.”

“The Princes…” Harry whispered, remembering the stories Miss Ellie had told him about the curse affecting the Black women.

“Yes,” Miss Cedie answered. “But they didn’t have the power to communicate with the shades of the elves they bound and so their project was abandoned very quickly.” The woman smiled with pleasure and added : “You, however, can speak to shades and it’s probable that you could speak to this elf and have it organise and clean and repair everything in your trunk for you.” She gave a swift look to the owner of the stall who had the old black trunk. “Try talking to it, but discreetly.”

Harry leaned over the trunk, examining the label that pronounced it only fifteen Galleons and said in a low voice : “Hush, elf.” The whining stopped straight away. “How would you like a new master?”

The elf began gushing in a shrill voice about the wonders that someone could see him and hear him and wanted him for its own elf and how good it would be for its new master if only its new master would buy the trunk. Harry winced a little and said again : “Hush now, elf.”

With the elf calmed down, Harry began negotiating with the merchant. He got the trunk for twelve Galleons and seven Sickles. A bargain.

Miss Cedie led around the different stalls where Harry bought used books, second-hand uniforms and robes, shoes and boots, one truly horrible pointed hat and everything on the list including a nice leather bookbag. He bought himself a few casual wizarding clothes as well, as they would be needed to truly integrate himself in the society which he had been excluded of for so long.

As he had been thrifty, he stopped at a toy stall and bought himself a set of marble runes, of a beautiful blood red colour, in a little satchel. He had a booklet with it and would learn how to use them soon enough.

***

Once his shopping was done, Harry went back to Diagon Alley to rejoin with the group of Muggleborns being led through their own purchases by Professor Mc Gonagall. The woman eyed him with a baleful look as she saw the small old trunk and no robes on his back. The other future students had all been dressed in Madam Malkin’s in blended cotton or velvet black robes and had purchased brand new large trunks, with precious wooden panels and metal handles which gleamed in the sun. Some of them had cages with owls or cats.

It was true Harry looked bedraggled and untidy compared to the others, but there had been no changing rooms at Woodson’s and no money in his vault for opulent purchases.

“Well, as Mr Potter has concluded his own shopping,” Professor McGonagall said, her voice tight and disappointed, “I’ll lead you back to the Leaky Cauldron, from where you’ll be able to rejoin Charing Cross in London.”

The group moved slowly, parents and children exchanging excited chatter, except for Harry who found himself at the end of the line, Miss Cedie gloomily saying : “That McGonagall woman seems angry with you. I wonder why.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry muttered. “I’m used to adults being angry with me and I won’t let her hurt me.”

As everyone stepped out of the old pub, the parents and their children thanked the Professor for her help and began to prepare for their trip back to their own homes.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harry wih her mouth pinched and said : “I have been in contact with Headmaster Dumbledore, who told me Muggle Children’s Services already knew about you, as a troublemaker, a bully and a little hellion that needed all the discipline your poor Muggle relatives could invent to make you behave. Considering your attitude and secrecy this morning, I can understand why they would feel that way.” Her eyes were thunderous. “I do not appreciate being lied to, Mr Potter, especially in cases as serious as child abuse, which you’re clearly not a victim of.” Taking his hand roughly, she said : “I’m taking you back to your relatives and hope for your sake that you’ll behave yourself.” Then she Apparated with Harry and his trunk in tow.

Harry knew it was fruitless to argue when someone had taken against him. She had witnessed the cupboard where he had been locked up this morning, the dirty old cot where he slept and the absence of breakfast that denoted an unusual punishment for a growing boy. Words with that Dumbledore fellow had been enough to make her forget and turn her against him. He stayed silent until she rang the doorbell of the Dursleys. Once the door was opened by Dudley, who screamed at his parents : “The freak is back!”, Harry looked the witch in the eye and said politely : “Thank you, Professor McGonagall. Goodbye.”

Miss Dorie appeared almost immediately while Harry was lugging his trunk towards the cupboard and commiserated : “Dumbledore, old goat that he is, must be meddling again. What does it matter to him that you stay at the Dursleys or not? I don’t understand his game…”

The last month with the Dursleys would be long but at least he had plenty of new occupations in his cupboard, between learning how to tame his elf to do his bidding inside his trunk, his books and his marble runes.


	3. To Hogwarts

Uncle Vernon drove him early on the morning of September first at King’s Cross station. He had taken a look at the train ticket and guffawed loudly, saying : “Good luck finding your platform, freak.”

Harry had a look at it and saw written ‘Platform Nine and Three Quarters’ which seemed completely nonsensical. He dragged his small trunk towards the space between Platform Nine and Platform Ten and resolved to wait for something magical to happen. He sat on his trunk and took his runes booklet to read it again. There was some vocabulary he was lacking to understand everything, but it seemed to him that more than a simple game, the marbles could be used a divination tool, which could be extraordinary.

Nothing special happened until ten, only a bobby coming to him asking if he was lost. He answered he was early for his train as he had mixed up the schedules but there was nothing to worry about. The bobby kept an eye on him from time to time. But Harry stayed sat on his trunk and reading.

After ten, some families dressed quite weirdly began to appear, with big trunks on trolleys, with sometimes owls in a cage, and then disappear in the brick pillar between the two platforms. Harry observed for quite some time then decided to get a trolley and enter the barrier himself. Nothing could go wrong, could it?

Miss Dorie appeared and Harry sighed softly and said : “Where have you been? I could have used your help determining how to enter this wretched platform hours ago…”

The shade growled and answered : “Do not take this tone with me, young man.” Her face softened. “I’m sorry I’m late, but time passes differently in limbo and I didn’t even know it was September first.

“Did you solve the puzzle of Platform Nine and Three Quarters?”

Harry gave her a smug smirk and said : “Yes, I did.” He put his hand in front of his mouth, so that people wouldn’t think he was talking to himself like a madman. “Would you like to come with me, Miss Dorie?”

“With pleasure, dear boy.”

Harry pushed his trolley towards the entrance he believed was there, and instead of the shock of wall he feared, he was propulsed into a world of light where a red bright train with a steam engine waited to be boarded.

“Welcome to the Hogwarts Express, Harry,” Miss Dorie said. “It is a tradition that goes back centuries that pupils must travel by train to Scotland where Hogwarts waits for them.”

“Welcome to the Hogwarts Express, young man,” a man with a whistle and peaked cap told him. “May I see your ticket please?”

Harry held out his ticket, and the man, obviously a inspector of some sort, touched it with his wand and waved him through : “All in order, you can go in.”

Harry pushed his trolley towards the head of the train, where less people were agglomerated in teary goodbyes and last-minute admonitions to their children, whatever their age. He lifted up his trunk to put it in the train and left the trolley on the platform. Once he found an empty compartment — not that it was difficult, as most of those compartments were empty — he raised the trunk in the shelf above his head, closed the door and settled in the nicely cushioned seat near the window.

Miss Dorie, still with him, said : “I know we talked a lot about Hogwarts, Harry, and you’ll see how important it is to make the right connections. I’m afraid you’ll have some difficulties of course, considering your lineage and your absence of wealth to attract the purebloods, but a quick mind and a witty tongue will help you considerably into making proper allies.”

“Which House do you think I’ll be in, Miss Dorie?” Harry asked.

“With us Blacks seeing to your education, I hope for Slytherin, even if it’s unusual for a Potter,” Miss Dorie answered. “Merlin knows I loved Charlus with all my heart, but he had this reckless bravado which he transmitted to his son and which got all three of us killed. And your mother of course.

“I hope you won’t wish to imitate them, in going into Gryffindor. That’s certainly not the place of a Black and the entire family was disappointed when your godfather Sirius was Sorted there. He died too. But you already know all this.”

Harry answered, a bit mulish : “I know all this, but you won’t tell me how students are Sorted into their Houses, so how can I prepare myself for going into Slytherin if I don’t know what the test is?”

As Miss Dorie answered it was a secret, the door opened and a sandy-haired boy with a scar on his forehead entered.

“My name is Neville Longbottom. I’ve lost my toad on the train. Did you see it?”

Harry answered curtly : “No toad, sorry.”

Longbottom insisted : “You don’t have an owl or a cat which could have attack a toad or something? Sometimes people don’t think their pets can be dangerous to others’ pets.”

Harry’s answer was definitely cold this time : “No owl, no cat. I don’t have a pet. And before you ask, I didn’t eat your toad either as I’m not a barbarian.”

“No need to get all high and mighty,” Longbottom said, red with embarrassment. He left the compartment, leaving the door open.

“Well,” Miss Dorie said, “not many good manners in this one, no doubt he’ll be a Gryffindor.”

Harry had just closed the door that it was open again by a young girl with buck teeth and bushy hair who said in a commanding voice : “Neville Longbottom lost his toad, do you have it?”

Harry was getting a bit fed up and answered : “No toad.”

The girl stayed there looking at him and Harry felt his temper fray a little.

“Was there anything else?”

The girl pursed her lips and said : “Yes, we’re approaching Hogwarts and you’re supposed to be in uniform. You should change or you’ll get in trouble. No one wants to get in trouble on the very first day you know and I read in Hogwarts, A History that — “

“— that boys can’t changed with a girl in the same room? Thank you, get out.” Harry closed the door and tried a spell he read about in his Charms book to get finally a bit a peace. He took his wand from his sleeve and said Colloportus. He heard the snick of the lock and sighed in relief.

He grabbed his trunk and murmured to the bound elf : “A uniform, clean and pressed. A school robe unwrinkled.” When he opened the trunk, the clothes were waiting for him and he changed, transforming from Harry the Mudblood into Harry the Wizard. At least that’s how he thought of it.

***

A voice sounded in the compartment : “We will arrive at Hogwarts in five minutes. Please be ready to vacate your compartment quickly. Your trunks will be transported separately. We will arrive at Hogwarts in four minutes…”

Harry used his wand to counter the spell he had put on the door and had to try twice as his first Alohamora was a bit mispronounced, to the amusement of Miss Dorie.

The corridor of the train was in effervescence. Dozens upon dozens of students tried to squeeze themselves together to be the firsts out. Harry didn’t see the logic in it and decided to stay seated in his tranquil compartment until the train stopped.

The whistle blew and the train door opened, leading to complete chaos.

Miss Dorie said : “Things are much less organised than in my days. We had prefects from fifth years and up leading the younger years to the carriages and a professor to take care of the first years because —”

She couldn’t finish because her voice was completely covered by a loud cry of : “First Years, First Years” coming from the biggest man Harry had ever seen. He was at least eight or nine feet tall, large as a wine barrel and with a heavy beard that hid most of his face. He was holding a lantern high enough to serve as a beacon and kept calling : “First Years, First Years.” On closer look, he was standing near a big lake, where a dozen of boats waited for them.

“Why in Merlin’s name is Hogwarts’ Groundkeeper taking the First Year instead of a Professor?” Miss Dorie asked indignantly. “Really, this place is in shambles.”

“Do you know who the man is, Miss Dorie?” Harry asked, his head turned away from the other students.

“That’s Rubeus Hagrid, a half-giant who was expelled from Hogwarts after some misdeed or other,” Miss Dorie answered. “He’s the Grounkeeper of Hogwarts, meaning he does the menial jobs needed outside of the castle. He’s a servant, not even able to use magic because his wand was snapped.” Miss Dorie seemed really shaken and distraught. “This is an intolerable breach of security.”

“Come on,” Hagrid said in a gruff voice. “Four by boats and you’ll soon be at Hogwarts for the Feast.”

Harry waited the last minute to board a boat and only had to share with a blonde girl who seemed determined not to look at him. That suited him just right.

“And here is your first view of Hogwarts Castle,” Hagrid boomed. “You’ll likely never forget it.”

In front of them was a marvellous castle, completely illuminated, with numerous towers and even crenellations at the top, like a rampart walk. It was grandiose. Even Harry was impressed.

Finally, the boats arrived at their destination and loud croak could be heard. Neville Longbottom ran towards it and said : “Trevor, I thought you were lost.” He put the toad in his robe pocket while a couple of other children patted him on the back, as if congratulating him to have recaptured the escaped toad.

Harry was the last one out of the boats, as he had been the last one in.

Hagrid knocked on the castle door, making the hinges tremble, and when the door opened, said : “The First Years, Professor McGonagall.”

***

Harry and all the other First Years were waiting into a big dark antechamber. Several floating candles gave a little light and the children could see the inside of the building was indeed a medieval castle. The walls were made of grey slabs of stone piled up and the floor was paved with grey cobblestones as well. A few old-fashioned tapestries hung from the walls, depicting battles or the slaying of monsters. After his last ten years in the Muggle world, Harry found all this quite antiquated and horrifying.

Professor McGonagall had pursed lips and piercing eyes. She cleared her throat noisily to get the attention of everyone and began a speech she must have told to generations of young wizards and witches.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she said in a very dry voice. "Hogwarts is the most ancient and well-known wizarding school in Europe. It will give you an excellent standard education in every common subject and help you develop your talents so that you can enter wizarding society as an accomplished adult wizard or witch when you finish your seven years of school here." Her eyes roamed over the crowd, making every children nervous, even Harry. Thus it was the exact moment Miss Dorie appeared at his side again. McGonagall went on. "Hogwarts will welcome you in one of its four Houses. Your House will be your family for the next seven years. You will wear your House colours and try to make them proud by earning points for it -- and not lose them by any kind of unacceptable behaviour. The Four Houses are named Gryffindor, "her tone was softer and fonder when she uttered that name, " Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin." A slightly disgusted pout had formed on her lips and quickly disappeared when she said that last name.

"Well, I see that despite their policy on school unity, things haven't changed here," Miss Dorie growled. "The idiots in charge are still utterly prejudiced against the fine House that is Slytherin. Don't listen to them, Harry. Gryffindors like her prefer to let their brains rot in harebrained so-called heroic schemes rather than using them discreetly and intelligently."

Harry hid his smirk with his hand and whispered, "Yes, Miss Dorie."

Unfortunately, his actions were noticed by the Deputy Headmistress and she targeted him, "Do you have anything to share with your fellow students, young man ?" Harry shook his head. "No ? Then be quiet !" She glared at him in admonition. "Very well, please straighten up and follow me. We are going to the Great Hall, where all the Professors and older students are gathered. You will be called in alphabetical order to be Sorted in your House and will join your Housemates for the Welcoming Feast."

She turned away and began walking towards a big door at the other end of the antechamber. Harry followed slowly while boys and girls all around him nearly clambered over each other to be first in line. Really, Harry thought, how stupid can they be ? McGonagall did say alphabetically. 

At that moment, some of the children let out terrified shrieks as a silvery translucent monk flew through a solid wall, followed by a knight of some sort, both thoroughly absorbed in their discussion.

"Oh, look, Sir Nicolas," the monk said, nodding eagerly in his shorn head, "First Years waiting for their Sorting ! It's already that time of the year again !" He waved a transparent hand at the group, while the knight bowed, his head flopping down. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff, my old House !" And both ghosts flew away.

Miss Dorie was still beside Harry and was muttering about her inanity in forgetting the castle had its own ghosts, but fortunately it seemed that even ghosts couldn't see her.

Professor McGonagall pinched her lips as the disorganised group arrived on the platform prepared for the Sorting. The traditional three-legged stool was at the centre of it, with the old and mended pointed hat. Harry didn’t know it was the Sorting Hat, and the other children around him were puzzled and whispering, until they saw the professor's nostrils quiver and heard her admonish them with a single 'Silence !'

The Hat moved slowly, its point rising up, and it opened what looked like a large mouth to yawn. Once awake, it began to sing a song introducing Hogwarts and praising its four Houses with qualities attributed to their respective Founders : chivalry and noblesse for Gryffindor, intelligence and dedication for Ravenclaw, hard work and loyalty for Hufflepuff and finally cunning and ambition for Slytherin. It concluded its song with the fact that it would look inside their heads to Sort them according to their strengths and weaknesses. Harry found that bit of information a bit disturbing.

McGonagall unrolled a thick roll of parchment and called the first name, "Abbot, Hannah," who was promptly Sorted into Hufflepuff. 

She went on and on with names, and Harry only perked up when he heard, "Longbottom, Neville," because the noise in the Great Hall suddenly increased with the chatter of hundreds of students.

"The Neville Longbottom ?"

"That's the Boy-Who-Lived, I hope he's with us in Gryffindor !"

"Look, can you see the scar on his forehead ?"

"Whoa..."

Harry lowered his head so that no one would see his lips moving as he asked very quietly, "Miss Dorie, what is the story about this boy ? Why is everyone talking about him ?"

Dorea answered gingerly, "Well, from what I've been able to gather, which is not much, the Longbottom family was attacked before yours by the Dark Lord himself. Your godfather Sirius died protecting them. And the Dark Lord tried to kill that boy with the Avada Kedavra spell, which is known for never failing as it can’t be blocked, but apparently the curse rebounded — and no, I've no idea why — and the Dark Lord was struck dead by his own curse. The infant survived with a scar on his face where the curse had hit him and has been known as the Boy-Who-Lived ever since."

"So, an old story," Harry smirked. He looked up and noticed he had missed the Sorting of this young celebrity, but saw him sitting amongst several older Gryffindors who where cheering and hooting in triumph. "Not interesting."

Another name attracted his attention before long when McGonagall called, "Malfoy, Draco," with a disapproving tone. The Hat hadn't touched his head yet that he was shouting "Slytherin !" Harry nodded and muttered, "Only appropriate for one who shares Black blood..."

At last, he heard his name called. He walked on the platform with his head held high, sat on the rickety stool and waited for the Hat to make his judgement, never doubting for a second that he was destined for Slytherin, like every Black before him (well except for Sirius, who had been a rebel and apparently tricked the Hat into letting him into Gryffindor). He was surprised to hear a low chuckle in his head and froze.

"Well, well, Harry Potter. It seems to me that you're very different from your parents. Both of them foolhardy, courageous, boisterous and Gryffindors," the Hat whispered in his mind.

"Both of them dead since I was an infant," Harry answered.

"You were reared a Black, though, by shades of the Black Sisterhood. How interesting, it is the first time in a long time since shades of the dead roamed the world. And not a virgin, are you?"

Harry was nervous. It seemed true that the Hat was a powerful artifact that could read your mind, your memories and your desires. He inwardly cleared his throat and asked silently, "Would you mind keeping these details to yourself, please ?"

The Hat chuckled again and said, "I always keep the students' secrets, young bloodletter. I hoard them and delight in them." Harry gasped when he heard the term 'bloodletter'. Not because he was unaware of his budding power — after all, he had already killed a man if only in self-defence — , but because he didn't think the word applied to him yet. He was not a murderer. The Hat went on, "There is only one House for you, really. Better be... Slytherin !"

Harry slowly took the Hat off of his head and put it down on the stool before joining his Housemates who welcomed him with subdued clapping. The Potter family was well-known, even if he was the last member of it. No Potter-born had ever been a Slytherin.

***

Harry found himself sitting next to Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table. The Sorting was concluded when the Hat sent Blaise Zabini to Slytherin. The tall black boy sat in front of him. Harry saw Miss Dorie retreat and melt into the background until she disappeared.

Headmaster Dumbledore stood up at the Head table and opened his arms, as if to hug his hundreds of students in his head. He was wearing a blue hat glimmering with silver and gold sequins and a large purple wizarding robe on which embroidered unicorns were prancing joyously. His eyes were twinkling and his long white beard was a bit tangled. He looked like an old mad wizard to Harry and his speech only confirmed his opinion.

"Welcome, welcome to new students and welcome back to those who rejoin us here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry !" The Headmaster boomed. "This year will no doubt be an exceptional one. Hogwarts is an academic establishment that prides itself on implementing a policy of learning through fun !"

At the Head table, a dark-haired man, with a hooked nose, was scowling at the speech and pinching his nose. He looked aggravated. Professor McGonagall was shaking her head in a dramatic fashion, as if to disagree completely with Dumbledore's statement. A really small professor looking like a deformed goblin was trying to hide his snorts in his handkerchief and failing. Apparently, the Headmaster's ideas for the school were not very popular with the teachers.

"I hope you are well rested from your summer adventures and eager to enter into the new challenges that magic holds for you this year !" The dark-haired teacher could be heard groaning. "I'm certain you're all enthusiastic about beginning your new adventures in learning, but it is unfortunately my responsibility to explain to you the main Hogwarts rules." The dark-haired teacher mouthed 'unfortunately ?' to Professor McGonagall who rolled her eyes in response. "Dear little midgets First Years, let it be known that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden. I understand the name isn't very clear but... What was I saying ? Yes, no spells in the corridors and a multitude of items is banned from Hogwarts grounds. I never remember what they are, but the full list can be found in our caretaker Argus Filch's office." Dumbledore looked around, bemused, and said, "Are the House-Elves late in serving dinner ?"

His absurd question -- and the fact that the little creatures were waiting for his signal to begin the Feast -- was answered by the apparition of numerous dishes on the tables.

Dumbledore smiled and said, "Tuck in !"

The old man must be quite mad, Harry thought and shook his head. At the Slytherin table, a beefy older boy cleared his throat and glared the First Years into stillness. He had a silver badge with a big adorned P on it. "Firsties," he said with a low-pitched voice, "I am Marcus Flint and I am the prefect appointed to you. You will call me Prefect Flint. Here are the rules for the feast. You are allowed two types of meat. You must help yourself to at least two vegetables. You are only allowed one dessert. You will mind your manners. If you don't know how, you will observe an upper-year student and take their example. You will keep your chatter quiet." He scowled and glared again, looking at Harry. "Do not shame Slytherin House."

The food was utterly delicious. Harry could hear several First Years, especially Malfoy, complaining about the restrictions led out by the Fifth Year prefect, but it was truly a feast for him. He waited patiently and served himself a generous portion of chicken breast with gravy which he accompanied by potatoes, green beans and roasted tomatoes. The chicken was so tender it melted in his mouth, the beans were tasty and crunchy and the tomatoes juicy. He was a bit uneasy about the juice in the pitcher, it was a murky orange colour and he heard people say it was pumpkin juice. It was weird enough for him that he chose milk as beverage instead.

Several First Years were already introducing themselves and chatting about their families and famous ancestors. Miss Dorie had told him that the Potter family was traditionally Sorted into Gryffindor and that blood purity was an important issue in Slytherin. The conversations flowing around him just confirmed that fact, when Malfoy hailed him.

"Well, Potter, your Sorting is quite a surprise. Would you care to tell us why the Hat decided Slytherin for a Gryffindor half-blood like you ?" The blond boy sneered, but took a quick glance around him to make sure no one would challenge his question.

"No," Harry answered in a single world.

"No what, Potter ?"

Harry smirked and said very slowly, as if he was explaining something difficult to a young child, "No, Malfoy, I do not care telling you why the Hat chose Slytherin for me." 

The other boy flushed red at the rebuke from him and fell silent, while two burly First Years guffawed at his discomfiture. Not wanting to alienate the one boy his age from his 'family', Harry decided to proffer an olive branch in the form of request for information. "Malfoy, do you know who the different Professors are ? I think I heard your father was on Hogwarts' Board of Governors, so maybe you could introduce them..."

The blond looked at him and said, "Okay. Well, you have met McGonagall, she's the Transfigurations teacher and the Head of Gryffindor. She's known to be strict but fair, and she doesn't like Slytherins much." He took a deep breath to calm his nervousness. "The small ugly one seating next to her is Flitwick. He teaches Charms and it's believed that he does have goblin ancestry. I heard he's always cheerful with everyone. He heads Ravenclaw." Speaking about a subject he knew well obviously helped him being more at ease, and he smiled as he introduced the next teacher. "The dark-haired man sitting at the end of the table is Professor Snape, he's the Potions Master. He's also our Head of House and he hates everything Gryffindor..."

The dinner plates disappeared during Draco's description of Professor Sprout -- Hufflepuff and Herbology -- and the dessert dishes appeared. The selection was glorious. Cakes, pastries, bowls of fruits and more. Harry chose a small apricot tart and liked it a lot.

At the end of the meal, Dumbledore clapped his hands and encouraged the students to sing the hymn of the school. The song had no rhythm and no specific air, so a dreadful cacophony was produced by hundreds of students singing off-key. Slytherins of all age were apparently far from enthusiastic and Harry mouthed the words, but didn't make a sound.

"Well, it's been a long day and it's time for you students to return to or discover your respective Common Rooms," the Headmaster said, eyes twinkling. "Rest well and be ready for your first day tomorrow."

Prefect Flint stood up and he called in a loud voice, "First Years, make a line and follow me." He turned towards the doors and began walking and talking at the same time. "Slytherins are snakes, and therefore we have a nest underground. The Slytherin dorms are in the dungeons. Look around you and memorise the path quickly. Don't tell anyone not Slytherin where they are." After the second staircase, he turned into a dimly lit corridor and stopped in front of a huge polished black stone and said, "The password is Colubridae. Don't reveal it outside of the House. Be prepared as passwords are changed weekly." He turned towards the stone and said, "Colubridae."

The stone moved to allow entry into the Slytherin Common Room, and the First Years entered a large grotto-like room, decorated with green plush furniture, several sofas and armchairs, thicks rugs on the floor, wooden desks isolated in little alcoves and a dozen paintings, representing mainly snakes or serpentine creatures.

Harry looked around him, satisfied that Miss Dorie's description was still accurate after nearly sixty years. He noticed Malfoy was looking intimidated, his shoulders hunched. The two burly boys from dinner were frightening him with whispered words and Malfoy was backing slowly away. Before Harry could decide what he wanted to do about it, a dark velvety voice was heard.

"Welcome to Slytherin, little snakes."

***

Severus Snape looked over the little group of First Years from the shadows of the Common Room and noted mentally what he would say to them later in the evening. At the moment, on the first day back at Hogwarts, he was more focused on reiterating the Slytherin rules to the older students and allocating their tasks to the prefects. He walked out of the shadows, his black robes billowing around him and said, "Welcome to Slytherin, little snakes."

He narrowed his eyes at Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, who were apparently already picking on Draco, his godson. He would watch over them so the bullying didn't get out of hand.

He began speaking loudly, filling the silence of the dungeons, his voice echoing on the stone ceiling.

"You are Slytherins, some of you for years and some of you as of tonight. Slytherin will be your family for your whole stay at Hogwarts," Professor Snape said, looking haughty and forbidding. "It is true that the reputation of our House has been smeared by the actions of one individual who deemed himself a Dark Lord descended from the Founder of our House. Since those events a decade ago, Slytherin is viewed as a House for the darker elements of our society, for the untrustworthy and for the criminals." He banged his hand against the stone wall. "We are not so. We aren't. The three other Houses will treat you badly, will call you names, will refuse to work with you but they are wrong. You must rise higher than their petty-minded attitudes. My expectations are for you to be strong, to be powerful, to be influential and to be cunning."

His speech was obviously written to encourage the Upper Years to persevere despite the animosity of their peers and teachers and to prepare the First Years to not be as welcome as their schoolmates. He gave out instructions for the prefects, orders to form study groups within the House and finally dismissed the Upper Years. He always had a little one on one with the First Years, because he liked knowing each member of his House and mostly because he liked to make an impression on them.

Professor Snape waited until every other student left the Common Room then looked at each First Year.

Five girls, standing close to each other, with rosy cheeks and big bright eyes.

There was Pansy Parkinson, raised from the cradle to be the perfect pureblooded wife. Her mother had obviously insisted on her daughter using her feminine wiles to get a rich pureblood husband, as he had never seen before an eleven-year-old girl so primped : elegant make-up on her eyes, a dab of glossy lipstick on her lips, elaborate dark curls falling around her ears and manicured nails. No doubt the girl intended to become quite a popular socialite.

There was Daphne Greengrass who was looking bored. He knew the Grengrasses had two daughters and found themselves quite unfortunate. The girl had probably heard all her life that she would never be as good as a boy. He would try to encourage her to find a profession or a trade quite early as her parents didn't care much what happened to her -- she wasn't as pretty as the younger Astoria -- and wouldn't pay a dowry.

There was Millicent Bulstrode, a big and slightly unkept girl. She had been raised by her parents as though she was a boy and would be heir of her family, contrary to pureblood traditions. She would be quite a handful as an eleven-years-old and possibly a force to reckon with as an older girl.

There was Tracy Davis, who was the illegitimate half-blood child of a prominent Unspeakable with a Muggle woman. The father refused to acknowledge paternity but abducted the girl as soon as she showed signs of magic to have her raised by her grandparents and was paying for her education nonetheless. As a professor, he would keep an eye on her to make sure her blood status and her unusual family arrangements wouldn't cause trouble.

There was Lily Moon, who was quite an unknown. He knew that the Moon family was a minor pureblood House, with no money and no connections. The Moons had stayed out of the war and kept a neutral position. The girl was completely ordinary. He would try to get more information, but it wasn't a priority.

Six boys, already clustered in small groups and more rowdy than their female counterparts.

There was Crabbe and Goyle, already thick as thieves. They'd known each other since they were toddlers and would probably asked to room together. The two boys were big for eleven-year-olds and had been taught to gang up on anyone weak or unprotected. It would take time -- and most likely hours of detention -- to break their bullying habits ingrained by their families.

There was Theodore Nott, a weedy child with mean eyes. Snape knew his mother Catherine had died in suspicious circumstances. A fire had broken into her locked bedchambers and she had been unable to escape. His father Isodore had been roaring drunk in the local pub when the Aurors had come to interrogate him. The conclusion of the inquiry had been accident, but Snape believed nine-year-old Theodore had been the culprit. He would keep an eye on him.

There was Blaise Zabini, son of the famous -- or should it be infamous -- Isabella Zabini. The woman was from an old Italian pureblood line, related to the Borgias. She was suspected to seduce and marry rich men with no close family ties and poison them when she was tired of them. Blaise was her only child. Snape was certain Lady Zabini had no maternal instincts at all but wasn't sure if Blaise had been an accident or if he had been groomed to follow the family's traditions.

There was Draco Malfoy, looking a bit lost and frightened. After the involvement of his father Lucius in the Dark Lord's machinations to take over the wizarding world during the last war, Snape knew the man had retired from the public life to raise his son in complete isolation behind their Manor's wards and had heaped unattainable expectations on the boy's shoulders. Draco was a weak child of no social skills, trying to imitate his father's arrogance in all things. Such behaviour could be disastrous in Slytherin, so Snape would carefully look out for his godson.

And finally there was Harry Potter. Snape could hardly believe that his school nemesis' son was in the House of snakes. James Potter would probably turn in his grave. James had been a self-important bully, trampling on everyone's feet -- figuratively and literally -- and he had believed his popularity would protect him from any kind of retaliation, including from the teachers. Unfortunately, he had been mostly right. Professor Snape was determined to prevent any mischief from this Potter. The boy was small, but he held himself confidently and didn't lower his eyes when he felt his Head of House's black eyes staring at him.

Professor Snape cleared his throat and announced to his youngest snakes, "We will have a short individual interview tonight, because I like to be involved in my Slytherins' school life. After that, you'll be assigned to a room. The Slytherin dungeons is large enough that instead of sharing a large dorm with all your yearmates you'll share with only one other." He turned towards the stone wall and knocked his knuckles over the etching of the snake, which moved and revealed a door. "This is the door of my office. I am available for any concern you have that cannot be handled by a prefect. Do not waste my time with homesickness or homework worries." He entered the room and said, "Mr Crabbe, you are first."

***

After Malfoy exited Professor Snape’s office, Harry knew it was his turn. Thanks to Miss Dorie, he knew the stern man would be especially harsh against him, a revenge of some sorts against his father who had behaved deplorably towards Snape as a student and nearly caused his death, being rewarded for saving his life at the last moment instead.

“Well, well, Mr Potter,” Professor Snape began, “isn’t it a surprise to see you Sorted in Slytherin. Both your parents were fiercely Gryffindors.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered. He had decided to keep his responses as simple and short as possible to avoid any verbal entanglements with his Head of House.

“Your father would surely turn in his grave that his precious son is in Slytherin. What kind of flaw or failing did the Hat found in you that you couldn’t be a Gryffindor, do you think?” The older man taunted. “Maybe you’re not brave enough, not chivalrous enough, not courageous enough…”

Harry didn’t have an answer to those questions. He knew he was in Slytherin because he had the Founder’s affinity for blood magic, fostered by the shades of the Black women and because he had killed a man. It wasn’t something he was going to reveal to a man who hated him before even meeting him.

“Did you know your father once said he would have left Hogwarts if he was Sorted into Slytherin, Potter?” Gone was the honorific Mr and with it the limitations that Professor Snape usually put on himself to deal with students he despised.

“I didn’t know, sir,” Harry answered dully. He knew bullies quite well and there wasn’t anything he could do against this one unless it went further than simple words.

“It is unlikely you’re a true Slytherin,” Professor Snape went on, “more likely like your father, arrogant bully, reckless public danger and moronic student.” The sneer on his face was particularly hideous. “I won’t let you bring my House down, Potter, like the typical Gryffindor you are, like your entire family.”

“Not my entire family, sir. My parents were Gryffindors.” Harry dared to say. “But my grandmother was a Slytherin and I like to think I am more akin to her.”

Professor Snape turned purple with rage and hissed at the boy : “Do not lie to me, Potter. No member of your family was ever a Slytherin, especially a grandmother you can’t even remember.”

“Considering my grandmother was a Black before her marriage, I think it highly unlikely that she was anything but a Slytherin,” Harry argued. “The scandal would have been too great.”

Professor Snape turned searching eyes into the eyes of Harry and whispered : “A Black marrying a Potter, don’t make me laugh.”

“Dorea Black, sir,” Harry insisted. “I’m very sure of it.”

Professor Snape stopped for a moment, lost in recollection, then had to admit at least to himself that the boy was right. Dorea Potter was born a Black.

Miss Dorie, who had witnessed to the scene, couldn’t stop herself from saying : “Well done, Harry. I think you convinced him to give you a chance as a Slytherin.”

Harry nodded imperceptibly. It wouldn’t do for his Head of House to suspect that he was in communication with invisible entities, because he would be labelled ‘mad’ and no doubt locked up in an asylum for his own good.

“Very well, Mr Potter,” Professor Snape concluded. “I will provisionally believe you worthy of belonging to my House. But be very careful, one step out of the right path will lead you suffering like you never have experienced before.”

Harry doubted it but he dutifully answered : “Yes, sir.”

“Considering the family connection,” Professor Snape added, “I assign you to room with Draco Malfoy. Third door in the left corridor. Dismissed.”

***

After bidding good night to Miss Dorie, Harry snuggled under the warm woollen blankets. The harsh Scottish weather was going to take some time to get used to. Once his head was comfortably settled on his pillow, Harry closed his eyes and fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, Harry was dreaming of a long red train, that was whistling a song about a magic school every time the engine steam escaped by the funnel when suddenly his dream was filled with soft sobs and whimpering. He opened his eyes slowly and was greeted by an eerie view. The Slytherin First Year dormitory was brightened by a slight green glow coming from the windows. Being underground, the windows gave unto the Black Lake underwater. Harry looked around to find the origin of the stifled sounds he heard. The poster bed on his right had its curtains closed, but a small light seemed to be getting from under it. Getting silently out of bed, he padded towards the bed next to him and found Draco Malfoy crumbled on the floor, with tears rolling down his cheeks and his hands covering up his mouth. When the blond boy noticed his roommate staring at him, his eyes looked panicked for a second before a weary resignation swept over him. He hunched his shoulders and lowered his head.

Harry knew he had been hard on the other boy at the Feast so he approached and kneeled in front of Malfoy and whispered, "Hey, Malfoy. What's wrong ?" The boy didn't answer and didn't look up. "Are you homesick ? Do you want me to call a prefect or Professor Snape ?" Malfoy shook his head vehemently. "Well, maybe I can help. Tell me what's wrong." 

Harry got hold of Malfoy's arm and helped him stand up. It was really quite easy, considering that the blond was even smaller than him. He pushed Malfoy a bit to get him to move and muttered, "Well, at least, let's get you back in bed..." He was very surprised when Malfoy struggled and shook his head. "No bed ? Okay," he said. He began to suspect what had happened. He leant over the crumpled bedsheets and put his hand on them, in the middle of the bed, while Malfoy tried to pull him away but not before he felt the sheets were wet. Malfoy keened softly in despair at having his secret discovered.

"Hush, Malfoy, hush," Harry whispered. "Everything's fine, it's just an accident. Accidents happen." As the boy wouldn't calm down, he added, "I swear I won't tell anyone, Malfoy. No one will know. Come on, it's not that big a deal."

Malfoy's voice was low and hoarse when he said, "Liar. Liar. And what am I supposed to do now ?" He sniffed. "Here, I don't have any House-Elf to take care of the mess..."

"Well, first calm down so you don't wake up anyone else," Harry said in a no-nonsense voice. "And then, I'll help, you'll just have to follow my instructions."

***

Severus Snape never told his Slytherins about the many spells that had been cast on the wall opening leading to the Common Room -- he always knew when one of his little snakes was opening the portrait after curfew, either to go out (rarely) or to get in (more commonly) -- on the First to Fourth Years dorm doors -- which gave him an indication of whether or not his younger snakes respected his decreed bedtimes for them -- and on the First Years beds -- mainly because he noticed over the years that a lot of them were pale and had red eyes during their first weeks at Hogwarts, homesickness he supposed. These spells informed him all the time and he never shirked from his duty to answer every call. That attitude gave him a reputation of a stern disciplinarian, but also of a dependable Head of House. He guessed no other Housemaster or Housemistress at Hogwarts supervised their students so closely.

He was still awake at one in the morning when a soft alarm chimed, notifiying him that a First Year boy was out of bed. Most likely the boy was just going to the loo, but Snape waited to hear the alarm signalling the young miscreant back in his bed. After fifteen minutes, no alarm chimed and Snape left his comfortable armchair in front of his fireplace, put down the mystery novel he was reading down on the coffee table and prepared to stomp back to the Slytherin Common Room. He hoped that he wouldn't find a weeping and snivelling boy calling his Mummy (such a reaction would only bring teasing and taunting from the other Slytherins) or an ill one. As he walked to the door of his quarters, he heard a second alarm chimed, another First Year student was out of bed. He picked up his pace, walked quickly towards the wall opening, whispered the password and passed through the Common Room. He crossed his fingers that he wouldn't have to defuse a situation that would wake up the entire dorm.

He quietly opened the door, and heard the voice of Potter say, "...you'll just have to follow my instructions." Fearing his judgement of the boy had been wrong earlier this evening and the little monster was exactly like his father — arrogant, irresponsible, cruel — he prepared to intervene, when he heard his godson's desolate voice murmuring, "Why are you helping me, Potter?" Snape decided to observe how the situation would evolve before entering the dorm.

"Don't worry about that," Potter said quietly. "What's important is that there are House-Elves at Hogwarts, it's the largest dwelling of Elves in the British Isles. But you can't call them like you do at home. You have to take actions to get them to react." Draco was nodding and looking at Potter with big gleaming eyes, drinking his words. "First, we take care of you, then we take care of the bed."

Hearing Potter say this, Snape knew instantly what had happened and cursed his forgetfulness. He knew very well Draco's nighttime problems and should have anticipated them. He's been so busy during the summer and so anxious about the Potter spawn coming to Hogwarts that he had forgotten to brew a simple potion for Draco or even explain to him what to do. Maybe Potter would be an adequate guide (and how exactly did he know what to do ?) and not a devious prankster bent on humiliating his peers (and if he did, he would regret it dearly).

"So," the dark-haired boy whispered, "you have to find a clean pair of pyjamas in your wardrobe. You'll put the ones you wear in the dirty laundry hamper in the bathroom, and you'll have them back in a day or two washed, pressed and folded on your bed." Draco was still sniffing and his movements were slow, but he found the clothes and Potter went on. "For the bed linens, there is a bigger hamper in the cupboard of the bathroom, and if you put the dirty sheets in there, your bed will be remade when you come back." Potter looked around, as if he had heard a sound. "I'll do it tonight, but look. Your blankets are okay so I'm taking the over and under sheets, the mattress protector... and the pillowcase." Potter was efficiently stripping the bed and gathering the linens in his arms. " Now, we go to the loo. I chuck this in the cupboard, you put your pyjamas in the laundry hamper and you take a warm shower. You get squeaky clean and put your clean pyjamas on. And then back to sleep. Okay ?"

Big fat tears were rolling down Draco's face and Snape tamped down the urge to go comfort his godson. Potter, decidedly nothing like an oblivious Gryffindor, noticed and pretended he didn't. Instead, he said, "Come on, Malfoy. You'll be back in bed in ten minutes." He held his hand out to the blond boy, smiled when he felt the soft palm of his roommate touch his rougher one and ducked his head when he heard him breathe the words 'thank you'.

Snape would continue to observe until both boys were back in bed, but he was already distributing some points in his head. Five to a small snake who stayed calm under stressful circumstances and five to another small snake who was helpful and not mocking.


	4. First Problems At Hogwarts

The following morning, Harry woke up refreshed and ready to begin his wizarding education. He was actually excited to learn more about magic than the specialities and tidbits all the shades had taught him. His first thought was that magic was wonderful and one must be able to do anything with it. He would of course soon be disenchanted from the notion but for the first day, Harry was enthusiastic and nothing could bring him down.

Not even the sight of his roommate with dark smudges under his bleary eyes.

Harry knew how to keep a secret of course, and Draco Malfoy was of Black stock so there was some kind of family loyalty that bound him to silence about the night incident, but Malfoy seemed quite down and discouraged.

Harry decided to ignore him.

He prepared himself for the first day of classes very thoroughly, making sure his uniform was clean and neat, his work robes in perfect order and his leather bookbag full of the textbooks he might need, some empty notebooks and a fountain pen — which he had bought instead of parchment and quills because he wanted to adapt to being a wizard but not become completely archaic.

At seven thirty, every First Year was accounted for in the Common Room by Prefect Flint, who gave the final instructions : “Slytherins come and go in groups, and you are responsible for your punctuality for class and for meals. The study groups will begin next week, after your first classes. It is not an option, it is compulsory. You will respect the timing and the topic of the group you’re working in, as Upper Years are taking from their free time to educate you further and make sure you do your very best.

“You will represent Slytherin House outside the walls of the dungeons. Therefore, you will behave with respect for the authority of your Professors, you will present yourself as young gentlemen and ladies, always clean and well-dressed and you will not shame Slytherin House by your behaviour, be it in class, at meal times or in other circumstances.

“Is that clear?”

A muttered agreement answered the discourse and Prefect Flint scowled savagely and repeated with a louder voice : “Is that clear?”

“Yes, Prefect Flint,” a chorus of young voices answered this time.

Professor Snape came out of his office and scrutinised the gaggle of First Years in front of him. Some ties were crooked, some hair weren’t brushed and some shoes were a bit scuffed, but all in all he was quite satisfied that all eleven-years old had scrubbed up well.

“Everything in order, Mr Flint?” He asked.

“Yes, sir,” the prefect answered. “All rules laid out. This lot is ready to go.”

“Perfect,” Professor Snape said. Addressing the First Years, he added : “You’ll receive your schedule at breakfast this morning. Though there is a certain flexibility the first few days, I suggest you familiarise yourselves with the castle so as to not be late for class. Lateness will result in loss of points and, in case of Potions class, detention.” He sneered. “Dismissed.”

The First Year Slytherins walked out of the Common Room, preceded by Prefect Flint, who showed them the way to the Great Hall and to the end of the Slytherin table that would be theirs until they became Second Years. They all sat down in silence. 

The Great Hall was nearly empty, as most of the other Houses didn’t come to breakfast before eight (for the Ravenclaws and a few Hufflepuffs) or eight thirty (for the Gryffindors).

On the table was a large array of healthy food, from porridge, to fresh fruits, to toast and jams and different fruit juices.

Harry waited until Prefect Flint had loaded his plate before serving himself. He wouldn’t eat too much of course — he didn’t want to be lethargic — but he would eat enough so as not to be hungry as he had been so many times at the Dursleys. He was sure magic was hard work, despite the opinion of this relatives on ‘hocus pocus’. Orange juice for energy, porridge with a bit of honey and fresh fruit for endurance and, more by habit than anything else, he slipped an apple in the pocket of his robes for later.

Malfoy was barely eating and peering at him, as if he was frightened Harry would suddenly speak about what had happened the night before in front of all their housemates. Crabbe and Goyle who were sitting in front of him were apparently speaking in low menacing voices and Malfoy became quite paler, if it was even possible.

Harry didn’t have time to protect even a fellow Black against everything and decided to ignore him for the moment. Again.

Professor Snape was gliding behind the benches and slapping the schedules in front of each student, provoking sometimes a start (Zabini), a shudder (Nott), exclamations that were quickly shushed (Crabbe and Goyle) and a whimper (Malfoy). Harry, used to this kind of intimidation technique, didn’t react.

Looking quickly at his schedule, he noticed he had double Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws just after breakfast. The room was fourth floor near the Owen the Barbarian painting. It would take some time to get used to navigate with so little information.

Fortunately, Prefect Flint suggested he accompanied them this time to make sure they all knew where they were going.

***

Harry and the group of First Years arrived just on time for Professor McGonagall’s class, even with the help of Prefect Flint, as the stairs had decided to be mischievous and to turn regularly in the wrong direction. Flint decamped at high speed to make it to his own class.

Harry entered the room and choose a seat in the middle of the class. Too close to the Professor’s desk and he would look like a brown nose and too close to the door and he would look like someone who couldn’t wait until class was over. He was surprised how a magical class could look like any other class in any other school. There weren’t anything magical, but surprisingly a cat was sitting on the desk, licking his paws, twitching his whiskers and waiting.

“Do you mind if I sit here, Potter?” Malfoy asked in a low voice. He was still followed by the pair of babbling baboons Crabbe and Goyle who muttered obscenities and threats.

Harry shook his head. “Go right ahead.”

The Ravenclaws arrived a bit later, as none of their prefects had accompanied them and they chatted excitedly at the thought they weren’t late after all because the class hadn’t begun without them and the Professor seemed absent herself.

Suddenly, the cat jumped from the desk and transformed into stern Professor McGonagall with her small glasses on her nose. She spoke with a severe voice.

“As it is the first day of class, those of you who were late will be exceptionally excused but do not let that happen again as I consider punctuality the most basic politeness.

“This class is called Transfiguration because you will learn during your years here to transform either inanimate objects or animate animals into something else, either temporarily or permanently. As you have noticed, I can transform myself into a cat, this is called the Animagus Transfiguration. This is a difficult class and anyone not willing or able to follow will quickly find himself or herself out of his or her depth. I suggest you work, work hard and then work harder if you want to succeed in my class.”

She meandered around the tables, distributing small matchsticks, instructing them into how change them into needles.

To Harry who wanted to do bigger magic like changing into an animal himself, the class was a bit boring and Malfoy stayed very silent near him, concentrating on a wooden needle who would turn neither silver nor pointy.

Before they were dismissed to go to their next class, Miss Ellie appeared next to Harry who muttered to him : “What you youngsters learn now is complete codswallop. In my time, we learn to visualise the result and there was only one incantation which was Transformo and it was enough to transform anything into anything else. You give it a try, young Harry.”

Harry looked at his matchstick, imagined it was a needle, lifted his wand and said in a low voice : “Transformo.”

In front of him on his desk was a shining pointy needle.

Malfoy gaped and murmured : “How did you do that? That wasn’t the spell McGonagall taught us.”

Harry didn’t answer and put his Transfiguration book and notebook away. Then at the dismissal of the Professor, he was one of the first out of the classroom to find Prefect Flint waiting for them to accompany them to the Charms classroom in which they would be grouped with the Gryffindors.

Flint took them down the stairs and turned twice on the right. He left them in front of a door that was still closed but soon opened to let out a stampede of Third or Fourth Years students who giggled or outright laughed as they passed.

Miss Ellie explained : “Apparently, they’ve been doing Cheering Charms. I feel sorry for their next Professor, I don’t know how they will calm this lot down.”

The Slytherin First Years entered the room, where Professor Flitwick, small little half-goblin or something, was perched up a tower of books on his stage and welcomed them in the classroom. The Gryffindors arrived by twos and threes, all of them late. Apparently, just like the Ravenclaws, they didn’t have a Prefect to show them the intricacies of the castle.

Malfoy sat near Harry once more, but Crabbe and Goyle took the tables behind. Harry could hear them speak to Malfoy, threatening him again about his status as a pureblood — they insinuated that as his father had escaped Azkaban following the war, he was as good as a blood traitor — his family — they insulted his mother with names Harry wouldn’t repeat or bother to remember, he had no use for such foul language — and his safety — they described the curses and beatings they would inflict upon him at the first opportunity.

Harry turned slowly towards the two thugs and said in a low voice : “You will belt up now or I will boil your blood until you resemble the nice little roast we had for dinner yesterday. Understood?”

Crabbe and Goyle went red with anger but they kept silent after that.

Malfoy had a look of gratitude on his face and leaned towards Harry, apparently to thank him, only to have Harry tell him : “Belt up as well, I want to hear the lesson.” Malfoy’s face fell and he turned away, his eyes suspiciously bright.

Professor Flitwick took the register and even gave a powerful squeak that unbalanced him and knocked down his pile of books when he called for ‘Longbottom Neville’.

Harry chuckled in his sleeve.

The lesson was an interesting one about the levitation charm Wingardium Leviosa with a feather. It was a bit disrupted by a Gryffindor girl with bushy hair — Harry remembered her from the train, but he didn’t know her name — trying in vain to correct a red-haired freckled boy’s pronunciation who didn’t want to listen to her. Another Gryffindor with a terrible Irish accent put his feather on fire. Apparently, working with the Gryffindors was going to be a challenge, not only because the two Houses were rivals but also because they weren’t very scholarly oriented.

Malfoy was floating his feather quite easily. He took a quick look at Harry, whose feather was just doing little somersaults without actually taking off. He opened his mouth to say something then changed his mind when he remembered the rebuke he had already suffered.

Miss Ellie was still here and looked with a disapproving eye on the efforts of Harry and hissed at him : “Listen to the directions, for Merlin’s sake. The Professor said swish and flick, not jab jab jab. If you don’t follow the simplest instructions, how do you think you’ll be able to do more complex Charms like wards and rituals! You’re not a simpleton, please don’t act like it!”

Harry turned pink around the ears and did the movement more slowly, swish and flick, while saying the incantation correctly and his feather floated like it was supposed to.

Miss Ellie continued her admonition : “You’re not too old to be chided, Harry. And you’re too young to know everything. Please remember this lesson and pay attention to your instructors. Just as you pay attention to us. Magic is not only the magic of the Blacks. Magic can do a lot more.”

On that note, Professor Flitwick gave five points to every student who successfully floated his or her feather, making it fifteen points to Slytherin — Malfoy, Harry and the weedy kid named Nott — and ten to Gryffindor — Granger, the bushy-haired girl and Thomas, a black boy who seemed stunned to have succeeded. Neville Longbottom hadn’t succeeded in floating his feather yet.

After that class which had been enjoyable due to the cheerfulness of the professor and the interest there was in Charms, it was time for lunch. Harry was magically exhausted by his morning work and gorged himself on sandwiches and pumpkin juice. He hadn’t believed that pumpkin juice could taste good, but it was fruity and sweet. Harry noticed Malfoy barely ate and still looked pale. He jabbed his ribs and told him : “Eat up, Malfoy, you need the energy.”

Malfoy shook his head. Harry growled and said : “As a Black, you have the responsibility to do your best and to appear your best. At the moment, you’re just pathetic, so shape up and eat.”

Malfoy took a sandwich and ate, even if he looked a bit green. He retorted : “I’m a Malfoy, not a Black, Potter. Get your facts straight.”

Harry said : “You’re a Malfoy and a Black. Get your facts straight yourself.” He turned away without noticing how the words had shaken Malfoy.

Lunch was a bit strained after that, as Crabbe and Goyle took advantage as what they saw as a rift between Malfoy and his protector, and began their harassment again.

***

After lunch, there was a free period for the Slytherins and Harry decided to go back to his dorm to lighten the load of his bookbag — he didn’t know any Lightening Charm yet, but he swore to himself to look one up this evening and to read again the first three chapters of his Potions book, as he suspected Professor Snape to be a harsh taskmaster who would expect them to know already the basics he was supposed to teach.

Most First Years and some other Slytherin students were in the Common Room to have a moment of relaxation before beginning the afternoon lessons.

Harry was glad Malfoy had decided not to come to their dormroom, as he was a bit disillusioned about the boy in whom he had thought he would find a kindred soul full of Black spirit, with wit and ingenuity. Malfoy was more of a little child who couldn’t fight himself out of his own doubts. Not like Harry who had sworn at eight years old that no one would hurt him again. Malfoy was more or less exuding waves that attracted bullies and Harry didn’t want to embroil himself with the situation, which seemed to him more political and less academic.

After a few minutes of reading his book, Harry could hear raucous laughter and noises of scuffles come from the Common Room. Even in his dorm, he couldn’t work undisturbed. He wanted to give a good talking-to to the trouble-makers.

Once in the Common Room, he could see that Upper Years had gathered around the hearth, their heads turned away from the trouble, apparently encased in a bubble of silence, which must have been another spell Harry didn’t know.

Crabbe and Goyle were pushing Malfoy between them, hitting his arms, pulling his tie or his robes and laughing uproariously when Malfoy stumbled or fell. The blond boy was dishevelled and red. Given the appearances and the taunts, he had been disarmed and his wand had been thrown away out of his reach. Goyle raised his wand and used a Stinging spell on Malfoy’s cheek which made it look like he had been slapped hard enough to left a mark.

Despite Harry’s resolution to leave the Malfoy situation alone, he couldn’t let the fight degenerate and let Malfoy get hurt. Malfoy was a Black, in spite of his allegations to the contrary and Blacks sticked together.

Harry’s fingers twisted in a strange fashion, pointing at Crabbe and Goyle, and Miss Ellie was there to say a single word : “Careful.”

Harry visualised a disgusting Muggle sickness in his mind which came with a high fever, vomiting and diarrhoea and whispered : “Ferveo cruor,” to heighten the temperature of the blood of the two bullies and make them ill enough to visit the Hospital Wing instead on picking on Malfoy.

Crabbe turned purple and said : “I don’t feel so good. My head hurts.”

Goyle didn’t answer and threw up on the carpet of the Common Room. The stink attracted the attention of the Upper Years who finally decided to separate the combatants, as they called them and to lead the two hulking boys to the matron before more damage could be done to their Common Room. A Vanishing spell took care of the vomit on the floor and a Refreshing charm of the smell in the air.

Harry picked up Malfoy’s wand, a nice long hawthorn one with a unicorn core, which had rolled under a green armchair and gave it back to the boy with the advice : “Learn how to use it, Malfoy. Learn how to defend yourself or to make them pay for what they did, but stop being such a lump of a boy or you’ll be bullied for the rest of your life.”

Miss Ellie whispered : “You’re awfully hard on him, Harry.”

Harry couldn’t answer Miss Ellie as he was in public, but he wanted to say he wished someone had been hard on him before the night he had been attacked and maybe things would have gone differently.

Malfoy ran up his dormroom and threw himself on the cover of his bed, crying. Harry was just behind him and didn’t know words of comfort. The only thing he believed was that one should be strong or should shelter under someone stronger to avoid being hurt. It was at this moment that he realised it was possible he was Malfoy’s shelter.

He approached Malfoy’s bed and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Malfoy. Stick with me and I’ll teach you.” His voice was softer but firm. “Stop crying, you don’t want to give them the satisfaction. And we have Potions in a few minutes.”

Malfoy’s sniffles died down and he murmured : “You did something to them, didn’t you?”

“Focus, Malfoy. We have Potions with one of the most dreaded Professor in Hogwarts. It’s been told he can reduce you to tears with a few words and flay you alive with his invectives.” Harry tried to avoid the subject of what he had done. Wandless blood magic wasn’t something he would discuss openly, even with a fellow Black.

Malfoy gurgled, half-sob, half-giggle and said : “Severus is my godfather. He won’t do anything of the sort to me.”

Harry shrugged : “Lucky you. Professor Snape and my Dad hated each other at school and were at each other’s throats all the time. I’ll be fortunate if he doesn’t decide I’m a chip of the old block.”

***

They had Potions in the dungeons, but Prefect Flint took the time to heal Malfoy’s cheek and to indicate to them the door of the Potions Laboratory before scampering off to his own class. The Slytherins — at least those who were here and not in the Hospital Wing with a fever and most likely worse — waited lined up in silence in front of the door. Soon they were joined by the Gryffindors — again — who thought horsing about before Potions was a good idea. Harry thought they really had little brains, not to be afraid of what waited for them in the dungeons with a Slytherin Head of House as Potions Master.

The door opened suddenly and Professor Snape, his robe billowing around him, appeared and asked in a menacing voice : “What is the meaning of this mayhem?”

The Gryffindors stopped gallivanting and laughing and playing. No one answered.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for being unable to conduct yourselves as befit students of this institution,” Professor Snape said.

A low moan of disappointment could be heard in the ranks of the Gryffindors and Professor Snape added : “Five more for unduly protesting a just punishment.”

The pupils entered the classroom in silence and Malfoy grabbed Harry’s calloused hand to claim the first worktable in front of the Professor’s desk. Slytherins sat themselves behind them, on the left side of the classroom while Gryffindors sat themselves on the right side trying to push and shove themselves out of the way to avoid the first worktable nearer the desk.

Professor Snape began the introductory lecture to the course of Potions immediately : “You are here to learn the intricacies of one of the most powerful yet underestimated art of Potions. Potions are a science : what ingredient to use, how much to use, how to use them. But first and foremost, they are an art in which magical instinct and intent will guide you to brew the most extraordinary Potions you could think of. Potions to heal or to hurt, Potions to transform the body or the mind, Potions to battle or to rescue.

“I can only teach you the science. The art, you will have to learn for yourselves.

“Today, as I hope you already read the chapters concerning lab safety and the handling of ingredients, you will prepare a Boil Cure Potions in pairs, chapter four, page sixty-nine. It will take the full hour you have left.” With a wave of his wand, the entire instructions for brewing appeared on the blackboard.

“If you haven’t read the chapters, I suggest you do so now instead of blowing up yourselves or the classroom and take a zero for the day as you won’t have time to brew.”

No one, not even a Gryffindor — some of whom surely hadn’t read the first three chapters — took the book out of their bags and they all filed towards the ingredients cabinet to take the ingredients needed to brew to Potions.

Harry and Malfoy worked together, Harry preparing the pewter cauldron, and checking the flame under it while Malfoy began preparing the ingredients. He crushed the snake fangs into a fine powder and added them in the heated cauldron. Harry was chopping the dried nettles and let Malfoy wave his wand over the cauldron before adding them. The mixture simmered as it was supposed to. Malfoy prepared the four horned slugs, disembowelling them before putting them in the hot liquid. Harry then stopped the flame. He was prepared to add two porcupine quills to the cauldron when a violent explosion startled him.

Professor Snape was already on the move, his robes flowing behind him and shouting : “You, Longbottom, did you think your pitiful celebrity would exempt you from reading the instructions?” A putrid odour was engulfing the laboratory and Professor Snape made it disappear with a wave of his wand. A dozen of boils had appeared on the face and hands of Neville Longbottom who was wailing in pain. “You put the porcupine quills without dousing the fire because you probably didn’t read the chapters on lab safety. Ten points from Gryffindor. You, Weasley” he said pointing at a red-haired boy, “accompany him to the Hospital Wing so he can take the potion he was trying to brew.”

Granger, the Gryffindor girl, was already with her hand high in the air and, without waiting to be called upon, she said: “It wasn’t his fault, Professor.” Her voice was slightly whinging. “No one told us to read the first three chapters.”

Snape nearly bellowed in rage : “Ten more points for Gryffindor as I recall very clearly inviting anyone who had not read the chapters to do so at the beginning of the class.” As the Granger girl opened her mouth again, he interrupted her : “One more word, Miss Granger, and I’ll dismiss you from the remaining time of the class, earning yourself a zero.

“The rest of you, back to your Potions!”

Miss Charie, who hadn’t appeared a lot except at bedtimes, was suddenly here and smothering her laugh : “I quite like this one. Finish your potion, Harry. Practical experience is the best when it comes to poisons… I mean potions.”

Harry turned back to his potion and asked Malfoy : “Do you think we’re still good to add the porcupine quills?”

“We should be,” Malfoy answered.

Harry added the quills with no ill effect and Malfoy stirred five times clockwise. This time, Malfoy let Harry wave his wand over the potion and a pink smoke began raising over the cauldron.

Harry smiled and Malfoy timidly smiled back. They made a good team.

***

At the beginning of October, it was time for the First Years’ first flying lesson with Madam Hooch. FIrst Years couldn’t play Quidditch, the wizarding sport that had all the Upper Years mad, but they needed to learn how to fly on a broom.

Miss Vinnie had appeared as she was the best flyer of the shades and was dispensing advices to Harry who never had the opportunity to fly, contrary to some of his contemporaries who lived in wizarding households.

“Place your hand well over the broom while it is straight on the ground and say ‘Up’ with a loud and clear voice to tell him you’re its rider and it is your tool. Otherwise, your broom won’t respect you and it will buckle and shake. You don’t want to risk a fall.

“Then you will place your hands on the handle one above the other with your thumbs well hooked on the wood, then mount the broom with your left leg as you are left-handed.

Madam Hooch was calling for everyone to stand above the broom of their choice. Her instructions were a lot more succinct than those of Miss Vinnie : “Place a hand above the broom and say ‘Up’.”

Harry was next to Malfoy and looked at him. The blond boy hadn’t lost his expression of self-doubt and self-consciousness but followed the lead of the Professor. He put his hand above the broom and muttered a low ‘Up’. The broom trembled on the ground but didn’t rise. “Up,” he said again with a trickle of voice. The broom writhed but didn’t otherwise move. Malfoy’s shoulders slumped, as if his failure was definitive and he wouldn’t ever ride a broom.

Harry turned towards him and said : “Look at me and listen.”

He straightened his broom on the ground, put his hand over it and said in a loud commanding voice : “Up!” and the broom jumped into his hand.

Harry said to Malfoy : “It was my first time, so you can’t say I have an experience you don’t have. You have to order the broom to do your bidding, it’s a tool. You have to tell him clearly you’re the rider and it will fly for you, whether it wants to or not.”

On the other side of the line, Neville Longbottom and Weasley — Harry still didn’t know which one it was, it seemed that there were at least four or five of them, all in Gryffindor — had succeeded and decided to mock Malfoy for not succeeding yet.

“Don’t listen to them,” Harry exhorted his friend, “I know you can do it too. Try again.”

Malfoy took a deep breath and and said : “Up!” with enough conviction that the broom rose slowly until it touched his hand and his fingers tightened up around the handle.

Miss Vinnie gave Harry an approving smile.

Madam Hooch said : “Mount up your broom and hover slightly above the ground!”

Miss Vinnie scowled and said to Harry : “Remember what I told you, and to hover you have to push very slowly on the ground with your knees bent, not too much or you’ll fly too high. What kind of instructor is this woman, that she can’t explain things properly the first time around. Is she waiting for accidents to happen?”

Harry said to Malfoy : “Use your right leg because you’re right-handed, I’ll use my left because I’m left-handed, all right?” He didn’t have time to tell the other boy not to push too hard on his legs that Malfoy was airborne with his broom shaking and getting higher and higher until he finally lost his balance and fell of the broom with a resounding crack.

Harry went to the prone form of Malfoy before being shooed away by Madam Hooch who helped the boy stand up and examine him. 

“Hmm…” she said. “Broken wrist, better get you to the Hospital Wing right away.” Malfoy was pale with shock and pain.

Harry could hear Crabbe and Goyle sniggering quietly but at least it was better than Longbottom and Weasley re-enacting the scene with imitations of Malfoy crying for his Mummy and snivelling which he hadn’t done.

He turned towards them and said in a clear voice : “Here I thought Gryffindor was the House for chivalry, instead it turns out it’s the House for buffoons.”

Granger immediately came to the defence of her Housemates and shrieked : “How can you say that? You don’t know anything about Gryffindor at all!”

Miss Vinnie heckled Harry : “You tell them, my boy. Tell them.”

“You’re wrong, Granger,” Harry said, “my parents and my godfather were Gryffindors, so I know a little bit about that. But it’s mostly common sense. Deriding someone who has been badly hurt isn’t brave or chivalrous, it’s the behaviour of bullies. And from what I can see it’s Gryffindors’ behaviour all right.” Harry sneered at her. “Or do you think someone who broke his wrist in an accident deserves to be mocked?”

Granger turned pale then red in humiliation.

Weasley and Longbottom came around her and told her : “Don’t listen to him, Hermione. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just a slimy snake.”

That remark nearly triggered a war between Slytherins and Gryffindors, but Madam Hooch was coming back and used her whistle to separate the two groups before dismissing them, the lesson obviously over and a failure. Maybe someone would learn to stop pairing the two rival houses together in the future.

***

A few weeks later, Prefect Flint assembled the First Years, along with the Second and Third Years in the Slytherin Common Room for a meeting. He was scowling and keeping an eye on the younger Housemates. Everyone found him quite fearsome, but Harry thought he was quite nice, under the bear-like attitudes he liked to strike people with.

Professor Snape arrived in the Common Room in a flourish of black robes, making an unforgettable entrance as always.

“Listen up, little dunderheads,” Snape said, almost as an endearment, “there’s an infestation of boggarts in the castle. We don’t know where they come from but the staff will do everything they can to find out and stop it.

“For those of you unfamiliar with this magical creature, a boggart is a creature whose real form is never seen because it feeds on fear. Therefore it will take the form of what you fear the most : monsters, wild animals, nightmares and the like.

“You will work with an Upper Year in your study group tonight to learn or perfect the counter curse to those creatures. It is a precautionary measure only, as you’re supposed to move in groups, as always, and a boggart will get confused if it encounters too many minds at once.

“Now get to work.”

Prefect Flint was working with Harry, Malfoy and Nott.

“All right, Firsties, the spell you want to learn is Riddikulus. It is a Third Year spell, only because the Defence against the Dark Arts’ curriculum for Third Year is magical creatures. It’s an easy spell based on laughter. If you laugh at a boggart in the form of something that frightens you, it makes it pop away because it can’t frighten you anymore. Get it?”

Flint shows them the wand movement, a slash and a jab, as if to spear the boggart.

Harry, Malfoy and Nott repeated the movement several times, with Flint giving hints and corrections when needed.

To practice the spell, Flint conjured a manikin in the form of a vampire, and set the First Years at practising the spell to transform the vampire into something amusing. The Prefect hadn’t had the chance to give additional instructions that suddenly Malfoy found himself in a girl’s uniform, his weedy legs showing with white sockets and high-heeled shoes.

Crabbe and Goyle were roaring in laughter while Prefect Jones who supervised over them came upon them shouting : “You two morons, detention with Filch tonight!”

Flint waved his wand and said : “Finite Incantatem,” and Malfoy’s uniform regained his normal form. However, Malfoy’s eyes were shiny with tears and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t succeed in making the vampire into anything amusing with the Riddikulus spell.

Once the study session was over, Malfoy ran to his dorm and locked himself up in his poster bed, pulling the curtains all around him. He definitely didn’t want to speak to anybody, Harry thought.

The next few days felt like the calm before the storm. Every First Year Slytherin was walking the corridors with an entourage of friends or acquaintances in order to avoid being victim of a boggart. No incident had happened yet but the tension levels were high. Girls had taken to squeak or shriek when surprised and boys, except Harry who was decent and Malfoy who was still ashamed and mortified, had taken to surprise the girls the more they could.

The other First Years in the school didn’t seem that worried. Maybe they hadn’t had the sessions of the Riddikulus spell or the speech about how dangerous boggarts could be. Harry didn’t know and didn’t care.

After an interesting Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, in which Professor Quirrell had taught them with barely a stutter the spell Impedimenta to slow down an enemy coming at you, the Professor told them to be careful of the closet outside the classroom as it was the suspected lair of a boggart and he would take care of it at the end of the day. Defence was with the Hufflepuffs, who were a happy-go-lucky bunch who didn’t hold grudges or at least didn’t act on them. Harry wasn’t concerned when he had to leave Malfoy a few minutes to nip to the loo before their next class, Herbology. 

He should have remembered Crabbe and Goyle who had waited for an opportunity to pay back malfoy for their well-deserved detention. When Harry came out of the restroom, he couldn’t see Malfoy anymore but he could hear muffled screams coming from along the corridor. He retraced his steps towards the Defence classroom and the screams were coming from the closet.

Harry didn’t hesitate and opened the door to find himself face to face with a larger than life Lucius Malfoy, or so he supposed considering the familiarity of his traits with those of his son, raising his wand and saying : “I didn’t deserve a wimp like you for a son and you will pay for it. Crucio!” And Malfoy screamed again, both of his hands covering his mouth as if it tried not to make a sound but didn’t succeed. Harry raised his wand and said in a loud voice : “Riddikulus!”

Lucius Malfoy suddenly had the weight of Uncle Vernon, and a large blond moustache which he was twirling in a ridiculous manner. It wasn’t that funny, but it was enough for Harry to grab Malfoy by the scruff of his shirt, pull him out of the closet and close the door.

Alerted by the noise, Professor McGonagall and Professor Quirrell were waiting for them both outside the cupboard. The Transfiguration teacher looked down at Harry with scorn and said : “I see that your trouble-making ways have followed you even in Hogwarts, Mr Potter. Such bullying is not to be tolerated. Twenty points from Slytherin for terrorising your Housemate and a detention with me next Saturday.”

Professor Quirrell simply added : “Let’s g-g-get young Mr Malfoy to the Hospital Wing so he can have a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey. She can examine him to s-s-see if there are any wounds he needs to be treated for.”

When Professor McGonagall came towards Malfoy to lead him to the Hospital Wing, he refused to relinquish Harry’s arm. The Professor was stunned at the behaviour but didn’t say anything and led both boys to Madam Pomfrey.

Malfoy opened his eyes, his hand grabbing Harry’s arm and shoulder, and whispered : “Don’t leave me alone again.”

***

While Harry was waiting in the Hospital Wing, Miss Cedie appeared with Miss Dorie. Both of them had a lot to say about the attitude of Professor McGonagall who seemed terribly unfair and unprofessional. They expected it from Professor Snape who was known to favour his House and distribute punishments to the other Houses like it was going out of fashion. But Professor McGonagall was a bit of a surprise.

“The old cat should have known you wouldn’t have pulled Draco out of the closet if you had been the one to stuff him in there, it’s basic logic,” raged Miss Dorie at the injustice.

“I don’t understand, I was sure that Professor McGonagall would be an ally, close as she was to the Potters, I mean James and Lily…” added Miss Cedie.

Malfoy was sedated on a Hospital bed and his hand still gripped Harry’s hand. Madam Pomfrey had tried to separate them but as soon as Harry’s hand was out of reach, Malfoy became agitated and cried out.

Professor Snape arrived with Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore at the Hospital Wing. Professor McGonagall was frowning and muttering about stopping bullies before things degenerated as they had years ago with Potter Senior and Professor Snape was answering in a low disagreeing voice that Potter had been a protector of Malfoy against bullies from day one. 

The situation was obviously going to be complicated.

“Mr Potter isn’t enmeshed in juvenile behaviour like shoving Housemates in closets, especially as he trained with Mr Malfoy to learn the Riddikulus spell under the tutelage of one of my Prefects,” Professor Snape argued.

“I’m surprised and disappointed in you, Severus, that you would try to exculpate a member of your House, especially as he attacked another member of your House,” Professor McGonagall retorted with her mouth pinched.

“Just because you closed your eyes and ignored the behaviour of his father when he was here with his gang of ‘pranksters’ and ‘trouble-makers’, you can’t transpose this failure of yours unto his son. If you knew Harry Potter, you’ll know he’s nothing like his father. At all.” Professor Snape said. “And why would Mr Malfoy want Mr Potter close to him if Mr Potter was his tormentor?”

The question let Professor McGonagall a bit perturbed, as she didn’t have an answer.

Miss Dorie sighed : “Well maybe the old cat will see sense, this time. She didn’t see sense with the Dursleys, despite all the evidence she had in front of her nose…”

Headmaster Dumbledore approached the bed where Malfoy was lying under a Calming Draught and Dreamless Sleep potion. He asked in a soft voice : “May I speak to you a moment, Mr Potter?”

Harry turned towards him, his hand still in Malfoy’s hand and said : “Of course, Headmaster.”

“Can you tell me what happened this afternoon?” The Headmaster’s eyes were twinkling but he looked quite serious.

Harry explained the end of the Defence class and his need for the restroom before the Herbology class. “Malfoy was supposed to wait for me, because we’re supposed to travel in group inside the school because of the boggarts infestation,” Harry said. “But when I got out, he wasn’t there and I could hear screaming so I went towards it and I found Malfoy in the closet with the boggart so I grabbed him and pulled him out.” Harry’s head felt heavy and he had a pain behind his eyes. He put his free hand over his forehead and rubbed.

Miss Dorie was suspicious and said : “He’s not allowed to use Legilimency on you, Harry and you should tell him so.”

“Why would you Legilimise me, Headmaster?” Harry asked.

The Headmaster was astonished. He opened his mouth to answer, probably a blandishment to attenuate the crime he had just committed but Harry interrupted : “You know it’s illegal, don’t you, Headmaster?” Harry looked straight into the elder man’s eyes and said : “You should stay within the limits of the law or call for the Aurors if you believe an investigation is necessary. You shouldn’t rummage into your students’ head for information, especially without asking permission first.

“There’s a Muggle saying that state it’s better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission. I do not agree. And I do not forgive you. Leave please.” Harry turned back towards the bed and leaned towards Malfoy.

Professor Snape was gliding towards the Headmaster and whispered : “What have you done, Albus? Using Legilimency on an eleven-year-old! You could be condemned to a heavy fine or even a stay in Azkaban.”

“At least, Severus, I am on your side now. Mr Potter is telling the truth, he didn’t throw his Housemate in that closet, only pulled him out, after using the counter curse quite creatively,” the Headmaster answered.

“Let me speak to my student now,” Professor Snape said.

He approached the bed softly, and whispered : “Mr Potter, a moment of your time, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Harry turned towards him and answered in an exhausted voice : “Yes, sir.”

“Who do you think did this to Mr Malfoy?” the Professor asked. “Do you know of anyone who might have a feud with him or even an altercation?”

“Professor,” Harry said, “I’m not a tattle-tale, but we were having Defence with the Hufflepuffs, which is why I thought it was safe to leave Draco in the corridor while I used the loo. Hufflepuffs are harmless and none of them have anything against Malfoy or even Slytherin in particular.” He stopped to draw a breath then seemed to reconsider. “Draw your own conclusions.”

The conclusion was clear as water. One or several Slytherin First Years had waited until Malfoy was alone and had ambushed him. Professor Snape straightened up, his eyes narrowed in fury, and simply said : “I see.”

The following morning, the entire Slytherin House came to breakfast with defeated expressions. Professor Snape had given them an ultimatum. There would be a House meeting that night and for every five seconds with the culprit or culprits not denouncing himself or themselves five points would be deducted. When no more point remained, the entire House would be put on restriction and if that wasn’t enough then the entire House would serve a series of detention that would go in increasing until the guilty party was found and appropriately punished.

A tired Harry and a dejected Malfoy, finally dismissed from the Hospital Wing, joined them for breakfast. Prefect Flint said a few words in Harry’s ear and the boy answered : “I didn’t see anyone and anyway, I’m not a snitch.” Flint came back to his seat with a pensive frown on his brow.

The entire day was tense within Slytherin House, with Upper Years facing what they saw as an unfair punishment for the misdeed of some First Years. Everyone in the House knew who had probably bullied Malfoy as it wasn’t the first time. Crabbe and Goyle were sweating, because if they confessed, they’ll probably be severely punished, but if they didn’t confess the entire House would turn against them.

The pressure was too high and the two boys went to their Head of House’s office to confess before the meeting. They received a month’s detention every week-end and twenty points deducted each. They also received a very stern lecture in a threatening hiss that if the situation arose again, they would face expulsion and the breaking of their wands.

Professor Snape came to the meeting and only said : “The situation is resolved. I hope for your sake that nothing similar happens in the future as Slytherins are loyal to their own. Prefects, please pay better attention to the Lower Years who aren’t excused from appropriate behaviour both within and without the House.” With this, the affair was closed.


	5. Halloween

A few days before the end of the month of October, the students were exhilarated and nearly unbearable at the idea of the wonderful Feast that waited for them on the thirty-first, Halloween. Teachers were doing what they could to keep the lessons going as usual but they were wasting their time and their breath.

Malfoy, now that the threat of Crabbe and Goyle, had been dealt with, was excitable and couldn’t stop talking about what his father has described as a feast fit for a king. He waited impatiently for the decorations, the music and the meal, like a little child waited for Christmas.

Harry didn’t share the enthusiasm. After all, the day after Halloween, his parents had been murdered by Death Eaters and he had been shipped to the Dursleys, for ten years in the Muggle world, where he was considered odd at best and freaky at worst.

What Harry liked was the old Black customs of Halloween which Miss Ellie and Miss Dorie had shared with him, lighting a black candle at midnight or close and calling on the spirits of the departed to say goodbye properly and reassure them about the living. After all, Halloween was the day when the veil between the living and the dead was the thinnest. Harry, having access to lots of his Black ancestors, wanted to use the tradition to call upon his parents which he didn’t remember. Maybe his Black godfather too, though he had a been a bit of a black sheep in the family.

What Harry hadn’t expected was the big hullabaloo around Neville Longbottom, with students from every House except Slytherin conglomerating around him, commiserating with his loss, offering him sweets and generally comporting themselves as fans of a celebrity. Longbottom was lapping it up.

When Halloween finally arrived, students were laughing, shrieking, playing and nothing could douse their joy at being at the Feast.

Harry was a bit downcast, but he tried to look contented despite the slight pain in his chest and Miss Dorie decided to stay with him most of the day to give him courage. She regaled him with stories about his father, pranks, minor misdemeanours and jokes with no one as the butt’s joke. All light stories.

“I remember when James was a Third Year, he was studying Nifflers as a project in his Magical Creatures class, and he decided the little beastie was so cool… that was a word I’d never understand, something coming from the Muggle world… well so interesting that he had to had one as a pet and he smuggled one home during the Christmas holidays in his trunk. The next day, I couldn’t find any of my silverware, the spoons, the knives, the forks and even the candlesticks to put on the tables and the sconces on the wall… The Niffler had taken them all and had hoarded them in the basement, like a dragon guarding his treasure.”

Harry smiled a bit. He could understand a bit more of Professor McGonagall’s behaviour towards him if his father had been such a trouble-maker.

Harry sat down at the Slytherin table next to Malfoy, as he usually did. Malfoy’s chatter went uninterrupted about the floating candles lending a creepy atmosphere, the ceiling showing a beautiful starry night and the delicious pumpkin pasties, that were both hot and crusty.

“Pass me one of the pasties, then, Malfoy,” Harry said.

Malfoy looked at him with serious eyes and said : “You know, we’ve known each other for a couple of months now, so the least you could do is call me by my given name. It’s Draco, by the way, in case you missed it. Harry.” Malfoy maintained eye contact with Harry to see how the other boy would react.

Harry repeated, with a slight alteration : “Then, pass me one of those pasties, Draco.”

The use of this first name had Draco beaming, like he had won a victory.

From the dais where the Professors’ table was situated, the Headmaster stood up, smiled and opened his arms as if to encompass the complete student body : “Welcome, welcome to All Hallows’ Eve feast. This is a time to be merry and remember with joy the people who have passed.”

Harry tuned the speech out, he didn’t want to listen to platitudes. They would most likely dim his appetite. He turned his head away and saw Neville Longbottom entering the Great Hall, dressed in lavish black dress robes of mourning, followed by an entourage of girls who were praising his courage in coming to the Feast on the anniversary of his parents’ demise.

Harry’s fists tightened, as he listened to the continuous chatter surrounding the Longbottom boy. His chest was once again tight and painful and he felt like he was going to explode at any moment. Such pandering from the girls and such pomposity from the Boy-Who-Lived made him furious.

Miss Dorie tut-tutted, shaking her head at the display.

But when Headmaster Dumbledore pursued his speech by saying : “We should of course remember the brave sacrifice of young Neville’s parents, and the immense debt we owe to an young man who became an orphan to vanquish Lord Voldemort and end the war…” Harry couldn’t stop himself from getting up, addressing the Longbottom boy.

“What do you think you are doing, coming into a communal Feast, dressed in full regalia, as if the Feast was for your own benefit?” Harry asked, his face pink with anger.

“My parents died on this day, Potter. And I had to live with my Gran, because she was the last magical relative I had. I think I deserve the attention.” Longbottom answered without blushing.

Harry was incensed to hear the reasoning so blatant in its self-centeredness. “You think you’re the only orphan of this war? My parents died the day after yours, attacked by Death Eaters and you don’t see me making a fuss about it. And living with your Gran? You’re lucky! I couldn’t live with my Gran, because my grandparents have been killed by Death Eaters too! And I’m sure I’m not the only one who suffered devastating losses equal to yours.” Harry stopped to take a breath. “Stop acting like you’re special, like there’s a reason behind all the adulation, and admit —”

Harry couldn’t finish what he had to say, that Headmaster Dumbledore used a Sonorous charm to cover his voice and shout : “Enough!”

Professor McGonagall was already coming down the dais and began lecturing Harry in a low voice about disrupting the celebrations and disrespecting the memories of not only Longbottom’s parents but his own parents as well.

She hissed : “James and Lily would be ashamed by your outburst, young man. Now, sit down and not another word. You’ll serve a detention with me tomorrow. We’ll see if writing ‘I will learn to respect my betters’ two hundred times will help you improve your attitude.”

Harry’s face was red, not with embarrassment but with fury at the idea that Longbottom was his better in any way and it took Miss Dorie saying : “Please calm down, Harry. No need to have more punishment heaped on you this evening,” for him to stop making a fuss.

Draco was looking at Harry with adoration and all Slytherins were looking approvingly. Especially as no point had been taken. It seemed everyone in Slytherin House had wanted Longbottom taken down a peg or two.

It was at the time Harry sat down again that Professor Quirrell arrived in the Hall at great speed, with parts of his attire teared up and a bleeding gash on his cheek, screaming with a hoarse voice : “Bogeyman, bogeyman in the dungeons!” He then fainted dead away.

***

Headmaster Dumbledore immediately took charge of the situation, indicating that every Head of House should accompany their students to their Houses, because the Common Rooms were the most warded places in the castle.

Professor Snape protested : “Headmaster, you can’t think of sending the Slytherins in the dungeons towards the bogeyman who was sighted there. It’s sending them in harm’s way, not protecting them!”

The Headmaster overrode the protestations by saying : “The bogeyman will surely have moved, these creatures are quick and look for flesh. With no one in the dungeons, he wouldn’t have lingered there. With you at the helm of the crowd, I’m sure your students would be safe enough.”

Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House, made a token protest as well as her House was near the kitchens and the smells of food could attract the bogeyman. The Headmaster practically ignored her, offering her some bland reassurances as well.

And so the exodus from the Great Hall began. The Slytherins were mostly terrified. Prefects and Upper Years made a human wall surrounding the Lower Years and every one walked on the stairs descending towards the dungeons with his or her wand in his or her hand. 

A bogeyman was a monstrous creature at least eight or nine feet tall, with long scrawny arms and fingernails like claws, with a large mouth with teeth sharp enough to rend and rip flesh and worst of all, there wasn’t a standard spell to get rid of one. No one in Slytherin hadn’t ever seen one nor wanted to.

Harry was holding in blackthorn wand and scanning the surroundings with wary eyes, for movement in the shadows. Draco had one hand gripping Harry’s robes and the other shaking while holding his hawthorn wand.

The stone door of the Slytherin Common Room was finally in view when a rasping and hungry breath was heard at the end of the corridor. The bogeyman was still there. He moved amongst the shadows, seeming to appear and disappear at will, each time a little closer to the group of students.

Professor Snape aimed his wand and went for an unknown but obviously powerful spell : “Sectumsempra!”

The bogeyman stopped, his ribcage suddenly protruding outside his body and growled before charging. Each Prefect decided it was the time to attack. Blasting spells, Cutting spells, Exploding spells. Everything in the arsenal of the Upper Years was used with more or less success, but the barrage of spells definitely slowed the monster.

Crabbe was crying out in terror and said : “Fuck, I don’t want to be bloody eaten!”

As soon as he heard this, Harry screamed : “NO!” But the arm of the monster seemed to elongate to grab the poor Crabbe out of the crowd. Harry shouted so that everyone could hear him : “In legends, bogeymen punish children who lie or say bad words, so careful with what you say.”

It was too late for Crabbe though, as even a Killing Curse tried by their Head of House missed its mark, and the bogeyman put Crabbe’s head in his mouth to eat it, the crunching sounds almost intolerable.

Miss Ellie appeared suddenly near Harry and gave instructions in a loud voice to be heard over the screams, cries and noises made by nearly a hundred children trapped by the bogeyman : “It’s a creature of blood and bones and dead flesh, Harry, you have to try some of the curses I taught you, or even invent some curses with the Latin you know. You have to try anything. You cannot die today, I don’t think anything of us, including Miss Wallie, could survive the shock. If I may say so.”

Harry tried to concentrate on the bogeyman and said in a low voice the first curse he ever used, on the man who had raped him all those years ago : “Ignesco hostis cruor.”

The bogeyman began to shudder and shake but let out a terrifying bellow and tried to charge again while Professor Snape used more Dark Arts curses to stop him.

Harry went back to his Latin lesson and tried : “Ignesco hostis medulla.”

The bogeyman fell his knees, but still crawled along, his claws extended towards the students.

Harry thought and thought and tried again : “Exitium ossis.”

The bogeyman had the time to scratch Prefect Flint’s face and neck with his claws before falling undone, finally overcome by the array of spells. The bones of the bogeyman had detached themselves and they seemed charred.

Professor Snape cast a preserving spell over the remains, especially the ones of his former student, then quickly sent the Slytherin students inside the Common Room, while he provided protection until every one of them was in safety, except for Crabbe, who was dead.

***

The first thing Professor Snape did was a quick count of every heads in the Common Room to make sure he had all his living students inside the House. No one, but Crabbe, was missing. The second thing he did was go to Prefect Flint who was bleeding heavily from the face and neck and tend the wounds with the rudiments of first aid that he knew. The claws had been putrid and Professor Snape sent Prefect Jones to his office then to his lab by the interior doors to retrieve an anti-infection Potion.

With the first duties done, Professor Snape raised his wand, focused and said : “Expecto patronum.” A silver doe appeared, waiting for orders. Snape simply said to the Patronus : “Go to Madam Pomfrey and tell her I have a student grievously wounded in the Slytherin Common Room. Tell her to make haste.”

The silver doe bounded away, going through the wall and disappearing.

Professor Snape sat down on one of the armchairs of the Common Room and with weariness put his bowed head in his hands. Harry realised it must be extremely difficult for a proud man like Snape to admit he had lost one of his students, though through no fault of his own.

The fire in the hearth turned green and Madam Pomfrey, the matron, stepped out of the hearth followed quickly by Headmaster Dumbledore.

“Well, my boy,” the Headmaster said in a low but merry voice, “I was perhaps mistaken in thinking the bogeyman had left the dungeons, but you acquitted yourself quite well, with only a small wound on one of your students. Congratulations.”

“Congratulations?” Professor Snape said, disbelieving he could hear the word properly. “Headmaster, one of the First Year, Vincent Crabbe, was grabbed, beheaded and his head was eaten by the monster you sent us all towards. One of my First Year is dead!” His voice cracked a bit when saying those words.

“What did you say?” Headmaster Dumbledore asked, his brow furrowed in incomprehension.

“I’m saying your security precautions were useless and that your orders to reach the Slytherin Common Room led us to an ambush that my spell power and the spell power of all my Upper Years students and a few of my Lower years as well couldn’t control and that we barely made it out alive. Except for Vincent Crabbe who is dead. Decapitated. In front of his Housemates.”

The Headmaster turned around to have a look at the Common Room and could see little groups of students, especially the young ones crying and shivering while being comforted by Upper Years who also had tear tracks on their cheeks.

Professor Snape continued: : “And what you call a small wound on Marcus Flint is probably going to be a disfiguring scar on his face and neck from the poisonous claws of that beast. Not something he’ll bounce back of easily.”

Harry was sitting on the carpet, not far from Professor Snape and he could hear the conversation, despite Draco hanging on to him like a limpet. Apparently, Headmaster Dumbledore didn’t care much for the Slytherins and even the horrifying death of one of them in front of his schoolmates didn’t faze him much.

Miss Dorie was still there, silent, but providing support. It had been a difficult night, and she knew her presence meant a lot to Harry, who wouldn’t have the opportunity to offer a Black ritual to say farewell to his parents. The Slytherins obviously meant to stay all together this night.

Miss Cedie appeared and though Miss Dorie looked at first disapproving, as Miss Cedie was a great fan of the light and Headmaster Dumbledore, her expression changed when she heard what the other shade had to say.

“Harry,” Miss Cedie said. Harry tried to show her he paid attention without being too obvious about it. He didn’t want rumours that he was hearing voices going around. “Please forget what I told you about Dumbledore. I still believe he’s a great man, but he evidently doesn’t care that much about the individual. You have to care for yourself and your family first.” Harry nodded slowly.

At the same time, Draco’s shock was beginning to wear off and he began to ask questions to his friend : “What were those spells you sent at the monster, Harry?”

“Keep your voice down!” Harry muttered. “I don’t want anyone else to know.” Harry looked at him seriously to make sure the other boy understood. “I’ll tell you later when we’re alone, fine?”

However, Draco wasn’t the only one who had remarked Harry had sent devastating spells towards the bogeyman. Professor Snape was observant and he had noticed his Dark Arts spells had some small effects, but none of them would have burned and dismantled the bones of the bogeyman. He had heard his Upper Years shouting their Confringo, Diffindo, Bombarda and other spells, but he seemed to remember a small voice saying other spells, that were not on the repertoire of Hogwarts.

Miss Dorie noticed the gleam of interrogation in Professor Snape’s eyes when he looked over Harry and apprised him of it, saying : “I think your Head of House knows about your involvement. You should be ready to weather his questioning as well.”

Luckily, the tasks of the adults, Madam Pomfrey using a stretcher to lead her patient back to the Hospital Wing, and Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape evaluating the damages and getting poor Vincent Crabbe’s body back, were going to take some time and Harry could rest for a little time before he had to explain himself, either to Draco or Professor Snape.

***

The following morning, Harry woke up with a crick in his neck, because he had been sleeping on the floor of the Common Room with the entire House, everyone using armchairs, sofas, pillows and carpets as resting places. He noticed that Draco had cuddled against him, as if their proximity would protect him against further attacks. Both boys didn’t have time to talk about Harry’s defence — or more likely offence — against the bogeyman considering the lack of privacy.

Harry didn’t want Draco panicking about his absence, so he gently shook the boy awake. Once Draco had his eyes open, though glassy, Harry said : “I’m going back to our bedroom, to take a shower and change clothes.” He looked at his friend and added : “You can stay here with everyone or come with me.”

“I’ll come with,” Draco said in a trembling voice.

Once they were in their dormroom, Harry began to undress quite quickly. His clothes smelt like burnt flesh and there were traces of blood because he had been standing close to Prefect Flint when he had been attacked. Draco goggled at the indifference Harry had towards his body. Usually, Harry waited to be in the bathroom to disrobe, but he had no compunction about Draco seeing him naked. He wanted the disgusting clothes off of him more than he wanted to protect his decency.

He grabbed his clothes, and went with them in the loo, dropping them in the hamper, almost hoping the House Elves of Hogwarts would burn or destroy them instead of cleaning them and giving them back. 

He took a thorough shower, washing his hair twice to get the stink out of them and scrubbing his body almost ferociously. His skin wasn’t delicate and he was used to rough treatment so scrubbing himself pink to make sure no trace of the night remain wasn’t a problem. He also brushed his teeth because he felt the smell of the night had entered his nostrils and his mouth. Also it was the right way to clean himself up ; Miss Dorie would have his head if he didn’t brush and floss regularly.

He got out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips and gestured to his dormmate that the shower was free.

Draco was moving slowly, like he was around a tiger suddenly free of his cage, and Harry wondered if his actions last night had shocked or frightened Draco. Or maybe he was just embarrassed by the display of naked flesh. Harry shrugged.

He went to his trunk and began to request different clothes from his bound elf. He didn’t see Draco coming out of the bathroom and looking at him like he was mad for talking to his trunk then gaping in bewilderment as the trunk apparently obeyed the orders.

Harry raised his eyes and saw Draco looking at him oddly. He said : “Yes?”

“Does your trunk have special features that you can talk to it and it knows what you want?” Draco asked with a bit of jealousy in his voice.

Harry rolled his eyes and answered : “No, it’s a bit more complicated than that. But it’s something of a secret so I have to be sure you won’t go babbling to anyone else what you saw. Can I count on you?”

Draco straightened up and said : “My honour as a Malfoy, I won’t say a word.”

“I’d prefer your honour as a Black, if you don’t mind. It’s actually related to the entire imbroglio that you have questions about, the trunk, the spells and everything else strange you’ve been witness to these last few months.”

Draco bristled but complied : “My honour as a Black then.”

Harry gave him a comprehensive look and said : “Go take your shower now, and dress up for the day. Something in black if you have it, because the House will be in mourning for Crabbe. The bell for breakfast should be soon, and it wouldn’t do to be late. We’ll have time to talk later.”

Draco looked like he wanted to complain but a knock on the door interrupted him. Prefect Jones passed her head towards the room and asked : “Are you boys soon ready? Professor Snape is waiting to accompany the entire House to breakfast as soon as the bell rings. So hurry up!”

With this said, she closed the door and Draco hastened in the bathroom.

Professor Snape was waiting for them in the Common Room, his face a mask of blank indifference, probably to hide the way he felt about the tragedy of losing an eleven-year old to a monster which shouldn’t have been able to be in the school, warded as it was.

He counted heads himself, only Prefect Flint absent from the ranks as he was still the Hospital Wing and would stay there probably several days. Then he said : “Good morning, little snakes. Today is a sad day for Slytherin as we grieve for the loss of one of our own and the wounds of another.” He breathed deeply and scowled : “However, I don’t want you using this occasion to be less than you should be. Proud, well-mannered and — and not attacking other Houses as they will undoubtedly be less than respectful or subtle in their remarks concerning our mourning.” He took a deep breath again : “Do not start fights, do not get involved in arguments, ignore everything but this rule ‘We are Slytherin, we are one and nothing can beat us down’.”

“Nothing can beat us down!” The House repeated.

Professor Snape gave a small smile, really just a wrinkle in his immobile face. “Then, onwards to breakfast. In silence. In remembrance of a fallen comrade.”

The corridor leading to Slytherin House had been cleaned up and the students lined up and marched silently, climbing the steps towards the Great Hall at a steady rhythm. They arrived into the Hall who was already full of students excitedly chatting, laughing and making horror stories to have their housemates shriek in fake terror. Harry nearly gagged in disgust.

He went to sit at his usual place, next to Draco, and noticed Goyle who seemed a little lost and dazed without his other bookend to be with him. A surge of pity rose up in Harry, but not enough to forget how Goyle and Crabbe had tormented several First Years and Draco in particular.

The Headmaster rose from his throne-like seat and address the crowd of students : “Last night, a bogeyman infiltrated the dungeons of Hogwarts and despite every measure taken to protect the students, I am saddened to say one student was killed by the beast before it could be subdued.”

Apparently, the news was still fresh and a deep silence permeated the Hall. Students were no longer laughing and roughhousing with each other in imitation of a fight.

Headmaster Dumbledore continued : “Let us remember Vincent Crabbe who died last night, a few feet away from the safety of his Common Room and give our condolences to his parents who came this morning to reclaim the mortal remains of their son.”

Mr and Mrs Crabbe were apparently waiting in the antechamber to the Great Hall as Headmaster Dumbledore made his speech. Mrs Crabbe was sobbing quietly in her handkerchief, but Mr Crabbe did have something to say : “The way this school is run is obviously a travesty and I can assure you, Dumbledore, I will get the Ministry involved in this whether you agree or not. It’s been decades since a student died on these premises and you’re the one responsible for it. I will see justice done to you.” The couple left the Great Hall and was led by Madam Pomfrey to the Hospital Wing where the body of their only son was waiting for funeral rites and burial.

***

The school continued his routines as usual, except for Slytherins who were now always in groups of three or four and vigilant at all times. They hadn’t forgotten the bogeyman, of course how could they? But they also had understood that the threat of boggarts was still fresh as the faculty hadn’t found the origin of the creatures which still infested the closets of the castle and sometimes even ventured further and hid themselves beneath desks or beds.

The other Houses seemed oblivious to the threats or treated them with concealed sniggers, as a wonderful prank to be inflicted on unsuspecting mates or enemies.

In the general panic, Professor McGonagall had at first forgotten she had given detention to Harry for the day after Halloween, ironically the day his parents had died, but she remembered it in the next class when she saw him smile at Draco who had successfully turned his mouse into a snuffbox.

“Mr Potter,” she said, “please see me after class.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry answered.

At the end of the class, Draco wanted to wait for Harry but common sense prevailed and he made his way towards the Charms classroom accompanied by Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode and Theo Nott.

Professor McGonagall began her speech : “Despite the abnormal events that took place on Halloween night, I haven’t forgotten the detention I had given you for your cheek, Mr Potter.”

Harry had nothing to respond to this.

The Professor pinched her lips and frowned : “You will present yourself to Mr Filch, the caretaker of the castle, tonight at seven. I’m sure he’ll have some tasks for you that are better suited to your abilities than simply writing lines, which I regret to say probably won’t change your attitude.”

Again, with nothing to say, Harry simply nodded. Seven was a bit early and he would barely have time to eat tonight.

“I am disappointed in you, Mr Potter. I thought you would adapt to wizarding life by leaving your flaws and failings back behind you. Lies, tomfoolery and other dangerous habits you apparently picked up in the Muggle world. But I can see that it is not the case. Hopefully, a bit of hard work will cure you of trying to get the attention to you and away from more worthy students.”

As he didn’t want the diatribe to continue lest he lost his temper, Harry said through gritted teeth : “Yes, Professor.” Apparently Professor McGonagall hadn’t changed her opinion of him at all. She had so little elements to pass judgement on him that he wondered if she was more disappointed that he hadn’t Sorted Gryffindor like his parents than in anything else.

He left the classroom, and began down the stairs and turned to the right when a silhouette began to form behind a suit of armour standing guard in the corridor. Harry immediately recognised him. It was the filthy, disgusting man who had attacked him all those years ago, come back to life for his vengeance. Harry sent a few Defence Against the Dark Arts spell towards him, as he knew the man was a Muggle. Impedimenta, then he tried Stupefy though he didn’t have consistent results with this spell. As the man still approached him as the spells didn’t seem to affect him at all, Harry’s mind gave way to full-blown terror and he began to scream. 

He had promised himself he wouldn’t be hurt that way again, but even with magic he couldn’t seem to protect himself. By instinct, he went back to the spells he had used against the bogeyman but they seemed ineffective as well. Harry was stepping back towards the stairs, still screaming his lungs out when he heard from behind him : “Riddikulus!” The man suddenly had big clown shoes and a red nose and was falling on his rear.

Professor McGonagall was standing behind him, her brow frowning in disapproval.

“I had thought you could defend yourself against a boggart, Mr Potter, not make a commotion to alert all the castle to your plight that shouldn’t be one, as you know the spell.”

Harry apologised : “I didn’t realise it was a boggart, Ma’am. I’m sorry.”

The Professor gave him a stern look and said : “I find this highly unlikely. Go to class, Mr Potter. And five points from Slytherin for lingering in the corridors.”

Harry made his two turns to the right and entered the Charms classroom. He immediately went to his place next to Draco and sat down with a heavy sigh.

Professor Flitwick, who apparently wasn’t in a good or forgiving mood, said : “Ten points from Slytherin for being late, Mr Potter.”

Harry nodded, a bit defeated. It was as if the staff was all against him all of a sudden.

The class began on personal care Charms, a topic which would last a good portion of the year, as it included Cleaning charms of all sorts, Repairing charms and Hygiene charms. It was a topic of great interest to Harry who thought he could use of re-use objects that way, as the gold in his vault was a lot less that Miss Dorie had anticipated.

“What happened to you, Harry?” Draco asked in a low voice. “We could hear you screaming in the corridor.”

Harry shook his head and said : “Tell you later.”

But even those three words were noticed by Professor Flitwick who decided to come down hard on Harry and said : “Five more points from Slytherin, Mr Potter, for talking when you should be working.”

Draco reddened as it was his fault and a lot of his housemates were now glaring at Harry who had lost them fifteen points in a few minutes — even twenty if one counted the points taken by Professor McGonagall.

Harry decided it would be a good idea to keep his head down for a while.

***

The next morning, Harry was at breakfast, explaining again to Draco how his detention had been boring — scrubbing trophies until they shone — and how he had been taken off guard by the boggart skulking in the corridor, trying to make him understand the difference there was between fighting a boggart you knew was a boggart, and fighting a boggart when you thought it was something or someone else. Draco didn’t seem very receptive as he had been saved by Harry from a boggart himself.

“Yes, Draco,” Harry said, his voice being a little tired of repeating what he had already said, “but your boggart didn’t scare me. It scared you. I knew your — you know — couldn’t be at Hogwarts casting this kind of spells in a cupboard.”

Draco didn’t want to let it go : “But what was it that scared you so much that you screamed like a banshee?”

“Leave it be, please, Draco,” Harry begged.

The conversation was cut short by the opening of the doors of the Great Hall. A man with a green bowler hat, a toad-like woman dressed in pink and Lucius Malfoy himself entered the hall.

“Good morning, gentlemen, lady,” Headmaster Dumbledore said jovially. His demeanour wasn’t one that would let people think a tragedy had occurred at the school just two days ago, resulting in the death of a student. “What can I do for you?”

The woman cleared her voice and said : “I am Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to Minister Fudge in charge of education and school activities.” She cleared her throat again. “The Ministry is saddened and aggrieved that it took the death of a young pureblood student for Hogwarts to reach out for help.”

Dumbledore’s frown told the truth to those who paid attention. He hadn’t call for help from the Ministry at all and resented their interference, though he was powerless to do anything about it.

“The Minister, I and the Board of Governors of Hogwarts represented by Mr Malfoy here today have decided that a member of the elite team of Suppression of Dangerous Magical Creatures should be stationed at Hogwarts for the foreseeable future. He will investigate the infestation of boggarts and deal with it, and more importantly he will shore up the defences of the school against the invasion of other creatures like this bogeyman and protect students should one of them enter the premises again.”

The man in the bowler hat said : “After the dramatic events of the last few days, I will as Minister authorise the use of deadly force against dangerous creatures and the execution of any which will attack a wizard or a witch.”

Harry looked at the diminutive man who looked a bit preposterous and whispered to Draco : “This is the Minister for Magic?” Draco nodded discreetly. He seemed to stay very still, as if not to draw the attention of his father on him.

The Minister continued : “Therefore, I have dispatched Mr Walden McNair, who is the specialist of such beasts and creatures to the school, where I hope he will be welcome by staff and students alike and allowed to do his job without any impediment.”

A burly man appeared behind the Minister, dressed in leather and holding on his shoulder an axe the size of a small shield. He had several machetes hooked up to his belt. He smiled, with a grin on the edge of sinister and introduced himself. This was Walden McNair.

The Minister, his Undersecretary and Mr Malfoy said their goodbye and turned to take their leave, though Mr Malfoy gave his son a somber look before going away.

Draco was shivering and Harry patted his shoulder, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

Mr McNair climbed the dais of the Professors and assumed a place at the end of the table, as if someone had invited him to do so.

“This is horrible,” Draco whispered. “My father is very angry at me for being sit next to a half-blood, especially you, as Potters are traditionally a Light family. And Walden McNair is an old family friend. He’ll keep an eye out for me and report what I do or say to my father. This is horrible,” he repeated.

“Calm down, Draco.” Harry was trying to be encouraging. “This McNair fellow can’t see what happens in class or in the Slytherin Common Room. You’ll just have to be discreet. You know how to be discreet, right? After all, you were Sorted Slytherin as well.”

“I was Sorted Slytherin, because I kept repeating the name of the House in my head and not listening to anything the Hat had to say about my attributes,” Draco confessed. “It wasn’t a choice, my father would have disowned me or worse if I had been anything but a Slytherin.” He explained in more detail. “It’s a family tradition, in the Malfoy family at least, that every scion is Slytherin, and it’s been going on that way for generations. I couldn’t disappoint my family, though I think my mother would have accepted Ravenclaw.”

Harry answered cautiously : “Your mother is a Black, Draco. I think she was delighted that you Sorted Slytherin, but surely she wouldn’t be that upset that we’re friends. I mean, we’re practically cousins anyway.”

“What are you talking about, Harry? The Blacks or the Malfoys never intermarried with the Potters,” Draco said with conviction in his voice.

“Sure they did. Don’t you know your genealogy? My grandmother was Dorea Black, who was — let me see — the sister of Pollux Black, who was the grandfather of your mother.” Harry had a small satisfied smile on his face. “See, practically cousins. Of some sort.”

“Really?” Draco sounded disbelieving, but Harry didn’t care and answered calmly. “Really.”

During their conversation, Headmaster Dumbledore had stood up again and glacially welcomed the newcomer amongst the staff and said a few words for the students : “As I’m sure you understand, Mr McNair will be providing safety and security to the castle, so I hope you students will stay well out of his way as he works.” The words seemed ominous and pointed more to the safety for students to be away from McNair than to the tranquillity the man needed to do his job.

“Well,” Harry said. “That’s us told.”

***

The new regime at Hogwarts was quite simple : go the Great Hall to eat morning, midday and evening, go to class as previously and do everything in one’s power to avoid Walden McNair.

The man apparently took his task very seriously and routed boggarts out of cupboards and closets, and chopped them up with this big axe of his, producing gushes of red blood, blue and green goo and other monstrosities that some students, too curious for their own good, actually got sprayed with.

A group of Hufflepuff girls were in tears, because McNair discovered a neat little nest of pixies near the kitchens. The girls were quite taken with them and had given them food. Despite being carnivorous, the pixies were scavengers and not a danger to any student, except maybe some bitten fingers if they were annoyed beyond reason. It didn’t matter one bit to McNair who hacked off the nest with one of his machetes and killed the pixies by cutting them in half.

The man was as violent and as bloodthirsty as they came, but apart from killing creatures of all sorts when he found them inside — he nearly severed the head of a Kneazle belonging to a serious-looking Ravenclaw with glasses — he didn’t research the source, as was promised by the Minister.

He cut, he hacked up, he ripped apart, he minced, he carved up and he dismembered all kinds of small or larger creatures which had done nothing along with the boggarts.

Rubeus Hagrid, the Groundskeeper of Hogwarts, began to complain that some of the animals of the Forbidden Forest were attacked by the furious man as well.

Harry and Draco had taken to avoid the man whatever the cost and took detour routes when they ran into him. Draco was a bit reassured by that, as he thought the man wouldn’t denounce his sympathies to his father and Harry was reassured that they weren’t about to become victims of what looked to him to be a psychopath bent on killing everything that moved.

On the fifth week after McNair’s arrival, there was another bogeyman alert, this time given by Prefect Flint who came dishevelled upon McNair and pointed him in the direction of the Potions classroom where the beast was crawling in silence. Flint still had an awful scar from his encounter with the first bogeyman, but he asked anyway : “Do you want some reinforcements? Or for me to go with you?”

McNair’s voice was deep. He said : “No, son. I will handle it on my own. It won’t be here long enough for me to need someone else’s help.”

Prefect Flint fled through the corridors towards the Great Hall, with the news of another bogeyman prowling in the dungeons. Every Professor stood up, except for Professor Trelawney who seemed lost in thought or simply too drunk to move, and began to follow the lead of Headmaster Dumbledore towards the danger area. They were determined this time to annihilate the creature without any casualty.

Professor Snape went with them of course, but he cursed softly under his breath. He hadn’t taken the time to speak to the Potter boy about the curses that had been so helpful last time. And Potter hadn’t volunteered any information either.

The advance of the Professors was stopped by a barrage of boggarts which seemed to pass through the wall and floor and ceiling to block the passage of the competent adults who wanted to help. It was like the boggarts were reproducing like mice and for every one eliminated to or three took its place. Also they seemed more organised, preventing the Professors to help the man from the Suppression of Dangerous Creatures department. It was not a common behaviour for boggarts to unite and have a goal outside frightening people, sometimes to death.

The wall of boggarts contained one Voldemort in a long black robe intoning the Killing Curse, several masked Death Eaters who had their wands raised and pain curses on their lips, a giant snake with his maw open and venom dripping from its fangs, an Acromantula — a giant spider big as a horse and large as a bull — its pincers clicking rapidly and an deformed humanoid monster who seemed sewed up together from different human parts reminding of the monster of Frankenstein.

Every Professor tackled his or her own boggart with their Riddikulus, but as the boggarts popped away, new ones seemed to take their places and the need to cast the Riddikulus spell was reinforced.

A few Upper Years, led by Marcus Flint, but from the four Houses came to the rescue, and the number of Riddikulus spell finally overwhelmed the number of boggarts until none remained.

Harry and Draco stayed safe in the Great Hall, but Harry had taken a few moments to speak with Flint who seemed determined to go back into the fray. He whispered about spells affecting blood and bones which seemed to be the principal components of a bogeyman. Flint nodded, his scarred face grinning — he looked quite roguish with the scar that went from his forehead to his cheek, without having touched his eye.

Once the boggarts had been dealt with, at least momentarily, the Professors and the small troup of brave Upper Years descended the stairs towards the Potions laboratory where they could hear the sound of a great battle. Groans and growls barely human seemed to come from Walden McNair who wielded his axe like it was an extension of his body : he was trying to cut or chop or otherwise harm the bogeyman, but apparently the task was a lot harder than he had thought. A few bones with withered flesh were on the floor, testament to his skill with the weapon, but he was perspiring heavily as he moved his bulk around to evade the claws and teeth of the monster.

The Professors immediately tried to help with a contingent of spells, all Light Arts, aimed at the bogeyman. The spells stopped him for a second then he roared as if enraged further and and attacked McNair with redoubled energy. One claw of the monster nearly cut off McNair’s arm and unbalanced him enough that he let go of the axe. With only machetes to protect himself, he wouldn’t last long.

Professor Snape remembered that Dark Arts were better suited and had better effects in slowing down the beast, so he intoned the spell non-verbally so as not to shock his colleagues. Sectumsempra. As it had happened the first time, the bones of the monster’s ribcage seemed to break and this time fell out with slivers of flesh still attached to them. The bogeyman bellowed and changed target. Flint just had the time to murmur to Professor Snape about the monster’s sensitivities to spells about blood and bone that the bogeyman was on them.

Professor Sprout tried a simple Stupefy spell, which of course didn’t work and was rewarded by the teeth of the bogeyman driven into her bosom and back as she screamed in pain.

Professor Dumbledore tried a complicated charm to calm the beast with no effect. It wouldn’t let go of its prey now that it had one.

Despite being a duelling champion several times over, Professor Flitwick’s spells didn’t make a dent into the bogeyman or slow it down or even make it pay attention to the small Professor.

Fearing for Professor Sprout’s life, Professor Snape decided to act and cast spells, Dark Arts spells, that touched the blood and the bones. He tried it non-verbally as well, so as to not be summarily dismissed for using Dark spells inside the castle. Evanesco cruor. The maw of the monster seemed to open a bit, releasing the flesh of the Herbology Professor, as the creature moaned in distress.

It’s the moment Walden McNair used to grab his axe once again and swung it at the head of the bogeyman, missing Professor Sprout by a few inches. She shrieked in terror.

The bogeyman released her, her body slumping to the floor surrounded with blood that came gushing from her wounds, and turned back to its first assailant.

Professor Snape tried another spell. He didn’t know it was a variant of one used by Harry Potter, but he tried nonetheless. Ignesco cruor.

The bogeyman shook and shuddered, as if in pain but didn’t fall.

Professor Snape was galvanised by what he saw as his success against the monster while the other Professors were simply providing distraction and tried. Adfligo cruor. The monster had his claws next to McNair’s throat but bent down double at the suffering the spell caused.

Then Professor Snape realised he should take care of the bones if he wanted the creature to stop, cursing his blood was enough to hurt him and slow it down, but not to kill it.

So in brief succession he intoned. Adfligo osseum. Ignesco osseum. Eversio osseum.

The spells were less powerful than they would have been if Professor Snape had pronounced them out loud, but the skeleton of the bogeyman began to break and burn and destroy itself. 

Once the bogeyman was down, McNair took his axe and began to furiously reduce the bones to powder without stopping, like a berserker. 

The Upper Year students who had been present for the battle, slowly left their post behind the Professors and went back to the Great Hall with the news of the complete and utter destruction of the bogeyman. Prefect Flint paused a second next to Professor Snape, just long enough to whisper : “Well done, sir”, which the man acknowledged by nodding. A nod that meant, ‘We’ll talk later’. And Flint nodded back.

When Prefect Flint came back to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, there was a cheer for him, especially from the Lower Years. Flint’s behaviour proved without a doubt that bravery wasn’t only a Gryffindor’s quality and that Slytherins could be brave too.

As he passed behind the benches to get to his place, he tousled jokingly Harry’s hair who said : “Oi!” with an indignant tone. But Flint winked at him and Harry understood. Draco, who hadn’t been part of the previous conversation couldn’t stop himself from asking : “What was that about?” in a whiny voice. “Come on, Harry,” he said with a complaining tone, “tell me what that was about!”

Harry only answered, as he usually did : “Tell you later, Draco.”


	6. Christmas

With the dispatch of the second bogeyman which everyone attributed to Walden McNair, his presence in the school became a little more popular.

Except, of course, with some Slytherin students who knew the true reason of the bogeyman’s demise. Professor Snape knew it was his spells and not anyone else’s that had killed the creature. He knew he had had the information to use spell of this type through his Prefect, Marcus Flint, who had been badly hurt in the first confrontation and was eager for a revenge.

But for the moment, Prefect Flint was elusive and didn’t seem to want to be questioned about he knew about the weaknesses of the bogeyman. He avoided being alone with Professor Snape and when cornered, always had an excuse ready to excuse himself.

Though some boggarts still lingered in the closets and cupboards of the castle, they were disorganised and an entire class of Defence Against the Dark Arts with all Houses, not just Slytherin and Hufflepuffs, had been dedicated to the Riddikulus spell, with some lateness, considering the private study sessions the Slytherins had done a lot earlier. But at least, every one now from First to Seventh Years knew how to recognise a boggart, how to confuse it and how to dispel it.

The Gryffindor bushy-haired girl, Hermione Granger, had had tons of questions concerning boggarts and bogeymen, if they were related, where did they come from, how did they feed and were they intelligent beings. The poor Professor Quirrell did his best to answer despite a stutter that was made worse by the fear the bogeymen inspired in him.

“Well, Miss Granger, it’s o-o-obvious that boggarts and b-b-bogeymen are from the same creatures’ f-f-f-family as they both feed on fear though the f-f-feeding is more literal for the b-b-bogeyman than for the boggart. The boggart is strenghened by the fear he creates, sometimes even f-f-f-frightening someone to death, but the b-b-b-bogeyman feeds f-f-from the h-h-hormones fear c-c-creates inside the body, so they actually e-e-e-eat fear.”

The Ravenclaws were eargerly taking notes about all this, while the Hufflepuufs huddled a little closer together.

Neville Longbottom, with all his bravado, simply said : “Well then, it’s unlikely us Gryffindors will ever get eaten by a bogeyman because nothing scares us and we don’t feel fear!”

His declaration was followed by a few cheers and a few claps.

The Slytherins stayed silent and didn’t reveal that it wasn’t fear that had drawn the bogeyman to Vincent Crabbe but his use of expletives for which he had been punished. The retention of information was something of the norm in Slytherin : if you knew something other people didn’t, you had an advantage over them.

Harry glared at Longbottom with contempt. Apparently, the boy thought he could survive just anything and not just survive but vanquish any foe that he encountered. In that moment, Harry regretted that the bogeymen liked the darkness and dampness of the dungeons, as he would like to have Longbottom confront one and see how long it would take him to pee in his pants.

“Enough about b-b-bogeymen, let’s return to our p-previous lesson. The spell I was teaching you is called the dancing spell, t-t-though the name is a bit of a misnomer. It forces your adversary to have his arms and legs move in rapid uncoordinated movements, often with gyrations, a little l-l-l-like a dance.” Professor Quirrell explained slowly. “The incantation is Tarantallegra and the wand movement is a round followed by a slash.” Professor Quirrell paused, as he often did during his explanations, either to focus on what he was going to say or to recuperate his bearings after having talked so much. He continued : “We will try the spell of a manikin which I brought for the o-o-occasion. In no instance will you use this spell against one of your schoolmates as it can be q-q-q-quite dangerous.”

Before Harry could have his turn in trying the spell against the manikin, a knock was heard at the door and Prefect Flint passed his head through and said : “Sorry to bother you, Professor, but Professor Snape demands to see Potter at once.”

Professor Quirrell inclined his head — everybody thought he either feared Snape or was awed by him — and said : “Potter, take your belongings and follow Prefect Flint. You’ll have time to p-p-practice the spell next time.”

Harry stuffed his book, his notebook and his fountain pen in his bookbag and slang it over his shoulder before exiting the room.

Prefect Flint looked at him a little seriously and said : “I did my best to hide where the knowledge of the curses useful against the bogeyman came from, but Professor Snape is nothing if not persistent. I had to tell him.”

“It’s all right, Prefect Flint,” Harry replied. “I appreciate you looking out for me.” He couldn’t stop himself from looking at the big scar that adorned now Flint’s face. Flint saw the glance.

“Ugly, innit?” He said.

“Erm…” Harry blushed. “I think it makes you a little bit like a pirate who would have a lot of adventures to talk about, actually.” Harry’s ears reddened. “Sorry, I know I’m weird.”

Flint himself had turned a bit pink at the compliment. “Well, thanks anyway,” he said.

Once they arrived at the dungeons, the awkwardness and embarrassment had faded from both their faces, and Prefect Flint knocked on the office door of Professor Snape who simply said in a monotone voice : “Enter.”

Flint opened the door and said : “Here is Potter who you wanted to see, sir.”

“Thank you, Prefect Flint,” Professor Snape answered. “You may go back to your duties now.”

Prefect Flint bowed and left, closing the door behind him.

Professor Snape’s office was very comfortable, with a large fireplace that illuminated the room and made it inviting, with a soft rug on the floor in the colours of Slytherin House, green and silver, and with several armchairs that looked very snug.

The Professor turned towards Harry and told him : “Please have a seat, Mr Potter.” His eyes were glinting with something indefinable. “I think we have several subjects to discuss, you and I. I’ll make you a pass for the classes you miss if any.” He thought about it a moment, then said : “But if I remember correctly, you have a free period after your Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said in a small voice. He had no idea if he was in trouble or not, yet. Professor Snape’s face was inscrutable.

Professor Snape looked at him with piercing eyes : “I suspect, Mr Potter, that it was your spells that fell the first bogeyman we met. I suspect that you gave information about those spells to Mr Flint when he went to battle against the second one. That information saved the life of one of your Professors —”

“Professor Sprout,” Harry added, knowing the woman had spent several days in the Hospital Wing after the second battle.

“Don’t interrupt me again, Mr Potter, it’s extremely rude,” Professor Snape chastened him. “But what I’d like to know is how you got the information you have on bogeymen and how you learn the spells you used.” He stopped speaking and waited for Harry to answer.

“The bogeyman is a well-known figure in the Muggle world, sir, though no one over the age of eight or nine thinks he’s real. Sometimes it is said that he will cut the thumb of children who still suck it, or that he will kidnap children who behave badly, or that he’ll punish children who lie or say bad words.” Harry said in one breath. “He is often represented as a skin and bone man who will eat children.” Harry racked his brain for a explanation that made sense and wouldn’t send him into an asylum. “I studied Latin at school, I mean before coming here. And I noticed most spells were in Latin here. So I tried and some things didn’t work but some things did. I don’t know why.” Harry was breathing rapidly and praying that his explanation was plausible enough.

Apparently not, as Professor Snape told Harry with quite a serious voice : “Mr Potter, from what I understand, you spent ten years in the Muggle world with no contact at all with any wizarding connections.” Harry nodded. “But someone, somehow, taught you blood magic.” Harry shook his head in denial, he didn’t want Snape to know about the shades, he would think Harry insane or worse. “Potter,” Snape said with his voice hard, “I saw you use those spells without your wand.” Snape glowered. “It shouldn’t be possible for someone your age.”

If this tidbit of information threw Professor Snape off course, then Harry would gladly share something more about that : “I can do most spells I learnt here without my wand. It’s just easier to use it.”

Professor Snape became very pale and his breathing was a bit altered, less deep and more rapid. He spoke softly as if not to spook a wild animal : “The reason wandless magic is so rare in children is that it develops mostly after one looses its virginity, Mr Potter. I don’t think —”

Even if he’d been asked not to, Harry interrupted Professor Snape, because he didn’t want any kind of misunderstanding. He said : “Sir, I’m not a virgin. Here is your explanation.”

“What did you just say?” Professor asked, his voice raspy.

Harry turned red and stammered : “Do I really have to repeat it?” Professor Snape nodded, because apparently he wanted to make sure he hadn’t misheard or misunderstood something. Harry repeated dutifully, though his ears were hot with humiliation : “I’m not a virgin, sir.”

Instead of asking Harry if he was sure, or interrogating him about how such thing could have happened when Harry was only eleven, Snape nodded his head one more time and said : “I see.”

He stayed sitting at his desk for a long moment, clearly in thought. Then when seeing Harry still in one of the armchair, he said : “Dismissed, Mr Potter.”

Harry was relieved. Most of his secrets were still secrets and he hoped no one would find them out anytime soon.

***

Draco was obviously not in the mood for Harry to have secrets. He suddenly wanted to know why Professor Snape had wanted an interview with him in his office — was he in some kind of trouble that Draco could help solve? He wanted to know what the trick of Harry’s trunk — where could he find one just like it because it was really practical? He wanted to know about the spells he had heard Harry utter at the first bogeyman — not spells found in any curriculum for any year at Hogwarts, so what the heck? And he wanted to know if Harry was having a secret affair with Prefect Flint since both of them were looking quite chummy.

Harry couldn’t do anything but laugh. Miss Dorie appeared and pleaded the cause of young Draco : “Put the poor boy out of his misery and explain, Harry. The little Malfoy has sworn on his honour as a Black and he’s been patient and understanding.”

That made Harry laugh even louder and harder. When he finished laughing, Harry found that Draco had retreated in his part of the room, his arms folded tight against his chest and his eyes a bit bright.

“Draco, I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear!” Harry said simply. “It’s just the barrage of questions you have was nearly the same as Professor Snape asked, with the same tone of voice and everything. It was funny.”

Draco wasn’t moving. Harry decided to go for the shock announcement, the same way he had with Professor Snape. “I don’t know why you thought I was secretly dating Prefect Flint, he’s much older than me, but it’s true one of the secret I have concerns something like it. Do you want to know?”

Draco had relaxed a bit and turned his head towards Harry, nodding.

“Don’t forget, Draco, you swore on your honour as a Black,” Harry reminded him. Draco nodded again, making the sign of renewing his promise his right hand.

“Professor Snape discovered I can do most of the spells we learn without my wand and —”

“That’s not possible,” Draco exclaimed. “Wandless magic comes later in life when you have sex and all that, we’re much too young for that!” He blushed at what he had just said. Just thinking about sex was enough to make him extremely uncomfortable, it seemed.

“That’s just the thing, Draco,” Harry say, a bit uncomfortable himself, “I’m not a virgin anymore.”

“What?” Draco blanched. “What happened? I mean…” he didn’t finish his sentence but the meaning was clear enough.

Harry just said : “I was eight years old and I couldn’t defend myself.” He looked Draco straight in the eyes. “I swore to myself it was never going to happen again. No one will beat me up again.” He lowered his eyes and looked at Draco through his lashes. “And that’s why I’m a Slytherin.”

“That’s what your boggart was, wasn’t it? That man,” Draco asked. Harry nodded somberly

Draco seemed to rally from the shock enough to ask the question : “Do you have an affair with Flint then?”

Harry laughed and replied : “You berk, of course not. What kind of House is this that a few simple affectionate pats on the head equals a sex relationship anyway?”

Draco enjoyed the banter : “We’re the House of perversion, didn’t you know?”

Harry rolled his eyes. He wanted to tell Draco the rest but wasn’t sure. Miss Ellie had always cautioned him against opening himself up to attack from people who weren’t family. And Draco still thought himself more of a Malfoy than a Black.

Maybe he would tell Draco later, when he felt on surer terrain. 

***

The atmosphere of the school had begun once again to be festive and merry with the approach of Yule and the Christmas holidays. Hogwarts was so far north in Scotland that the snow had begun to fall at the end of November and the landscape was all white around the castle.

Some students, especially the Gryffindors, with the Weasley Third Year twins at their helm, organised snow constructions : snowmen, snow forts, even one snow igloo which collapsed with Neville Longbottom and his friend Ron Weasley inside, to the delight of Harry who was looking out the window. The Gryffindor also seemed fond of having snow balls’ battles in team, to see who was the best shooter and the best evader, depending on how much snow stayed stuck on the garments of the boys.

Harry and Draco preferred to stay warm inside and take advantage of the kitchens to have hot chocolate ans scones to combat the pervading coldness, especially as the dungeons where under the Lake and so less insulated than the rest of the castle.

Harry became a dab hand at several types of Warming charms after a long conversation with Professor Flitwick, who acknowledged that those charms were well within the purview of personal care, with winter and cold creeping upon them. Harry was delighted to see that the small Professor hadn’t turned against him after all the points taken on the day of the boggart. He was cheerful and welcoming again, and that was a relief to Harry who had enough of Professor McGonagall on his back.

The old lady continued to scrutinise Harry and his movements when in the Great Hall or in class, but she couldn’t find a reason to give him another detention. Harry was being very well-behaved — as if he was ever anything else — and conformed to the appropriate behaviour of a normal eleven-year-old.

“What are you going to do for the holidays, Harry?” Draco asked at the beginning of December. Without even waiting for a response he launched into the explanation of what the holidays would be like for him. “My family organises a Yule Ball, where all the most important figures of the wizarding world are invited, from the Minister himself to the well-know singer Celestina Warbeck. They organise an art auction which benefits St Mungo’s Hospital, especially the children’s wards. Then my parents go skiing in the Alps and I have the Manor for me alone, with the House Elves who must do everything I command for a few days, it’s always fantastic!” Draco was pink with joy and a little breathless. “So what are you going to do, Harry?”

Harry looked at Draco with a small smile and said : “I’m staying at Hogwarts of course!”

He was overheard by Neville Longbottom and his clique and Longbottom couldn’t resist the tentation to quip that he was sorry for people not wanted at home, as Christmas was ordinarily a time for families being together and to show the love they had for each other. He didn’t notice Weasley becoming all red beside him, as apparently he would also stay at Hogwarts with his brothers.

Harry turned and sneered at the Boy-Who-Lived. He said : “Whatever you say, Longbottom. I’ve heard Christmases at Hogwarts rival the most sumptuous and regal Feasts in all Europe and I’ll be here for it.”

He took Draco’s gloved hand in his hand and said : “Come on, let’s not be late for one of our last Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year.”

They took the revolving stairs up to the third level of the castle to go to their class when they were confronted with a dirty Lucius Malfoy dressed in beggar clothes. They hadn’t had the opportunity to see a boggart confused before, but the sight was so funny that none of the two boys even pronounced the spell before exploding in giggles and chuckles. The boggart popped away.

They were still smiling when they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and Professor Quirrell looked at them with some kind of satisfaction on his face : “You d-d-defeated the boggart, didn’t you?”

Draco said : “Well, there were two of us, so it couldn’t decide what would scare us most, so it went with a combination of both and was quite ridiculous on its own. So we just laughed at it.”

“Well done,” Quirrell said, “T-t-t-ten points to Slytherin.”

Apparently the presence of the boggart of a test of sort and they had passed it brilliantly. When Harry turned towards the rest of the class, he could see some Hufflepuff still crying, or simply sniffling and deduced those students had failed the test. He might have failed as well if he hadn’t been with Draco and for the first time in his life, having a friend became something terribly important to him.

***

After a few days passed it was time for goodbyes, as Draco was taking the Hogwarts Express back ton London to be welcome back in his family. Harry wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing, when he remembered so clearly what Draco’s boggart had looked like : haughty, cruel and ready to harm his son. He understood it was a fear, but he wasn’t sure it wasn’t a fear based on reality.

Harry was standing on the platform at Hogsmeade, with a few other students who stayed for the Christmas holidays and the whole contingent of Professors to wave goodbye to the train.

With him, there was the Weasley group — indeed they all four stayed for Christmas as their parents were visiting another one of them in Roumania —, a couple of Ravenclaws Fifth and Seventh Years who wanted to prep early for OWLs and NEWTs, a lone Hufflepuff and from Slytherin, much to the delight of Harry, Prefect Flint.

They all came back to the castle following the trail of the carriages that had brought their schoolmates to the station and Harry took a moment to approach Hagrid, the Groundskeeper, and ask him about the winged skinny horses pulling the carriages.

“You can see them, can you?” Hagrid said, astonished. “That’s Thestrals. It’s a bit of a magical creature that only people who witnessed death can see.”

Harry turned red and stuttered about his parents’ death, which he truly didn’t remember, to avoid Hagrid asking questions about who else Harry could have watched die. Hagrid nodded his head wisely and said : “I shouldn’t be surprised, this last few years, more and more students can see the Thestrals because they were born during the war and saw things no child should have to see. And there was poor Crabbe’s death as well, which you might have seen. No thing a child should see, indeed.”

With this, the conversation was closed and Harry hoped Hagrid wouldn’t go babbling about poor Harry Potter remembering his parents’ death or something like that, especially to Professor McGonagall who was already so suspicious of him for no good reason.

The next day, Harry woke up late for the first time in years, yawned and stretched in his bed, happy for the comfortable and warm bed he had for the last few months. He didn’t know how he would go back to the thin mattress of his cot at the Dursleys’ house after having had such a luxury.

Prefect Flint was reading in the Common Room and they exchanged a few barbs before Harry left for the Great Hall, leaving Flint to his studying.

There was a flurry of activity there, though breakfast was no longer served. Hagrid seemed to be carrying enormous fir trees to serve as decorations for the Great Hall. It gave the air the very agreeable smell of the outside without the cold coming in. Professor Flitwick was over one of the tree already settled in its place and was waving his wand, making small baubles, garlands and fairy lights appear.

Harry was very interested. This was what magic was about, creating beauty around oneself and enjoying it while it lasted. He approached Professor Flitwick, making sure he was clearly visible on the side of the tree so that the Professor didn’t topple down his ladder.

“Hello, Professor Flitwick,” Harry said. “Are you doing the decorations for the fir trees?” It was obvious Flitwick was, but Harry thought it was better to have something of a conversation opener when asking for something.

Professor Flitwick nodded eagerly : “I am, I am, Mr Potter,” he answered. “And there will be twelve trees in the Hall to celebrate the twelve chimes of midnight.”

“Do you want some help?” Harry asked. “Because if you teach me the spells, I could under your supervision help you decorate the trees and the work will be finished earlier.” Harry reddened a bit. “And I would know spells to decorate my own house one day. I suppose Christmas decorations aren’t on Hogwarts’ curriculum anyway.”

“Very true, Mr Potter.” The Professor admitted. “So come here, and watch my wand movement first. For the baubles. A switch and a jab. The incantation is Ornamentum.” He demonstrated and several greeen and red baubles appeared on the tree. “Your turn now, Mr Potter.”

Harry raised his wand, concentrating on the wand movement and the incantation, when he felt his ear being harshly grabbed and his body pulled away from the tree.

Professor McGonagall looked down on him with a hard sheen in her eyes and said : “I don’t know what you think you were doing young man, but I won’t let you destroy or desecrate the holy tradition of Yule with your foolish nonsense.”

Harry opened his mouth but he hadn’t time to say a word before Professor McGonagall say : “Ten points from Slytherin for bad behaviour when you thought no one was here to decrease your excesses.”

“Minerva,” a hard voice stopped her. “I don’t know what you think you witnessed, but Mr Potter was learning spells under my supervision.” Professor Flitwick seemed nearly apoplectic that he would have let a student get away with mischief. “It has nothing to do with you if I tutor Mr Potter in the arts of Charms during the holidays. No need to be jealous if you’re too hard a Transfiguration Mistress to have students wanting supplementary lessons from you.” Professor McGonagall was very red but didn’t dare say a word. “Now, if you please, give back those points taken unfairly to the young man.”

Professor McGonagall muttered about the points and turned to get away. Professor Flitwick shouted after her : “It’s the holidays, Minerva. You should let your hair down a little.”

Harry was still rubbing his ear which hurt quite a bit, when Professor Flitwick aimed at the ear and said : “Episkey.” The pain was gone and Harry’s ear was just about normal again.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said. He cleared his throat and decided to ignore the whole episode and to go back to learning festive charms even with Professor Flitwick examining him shrewdly. “I’m ready with that bauble charms, now.”

On Yule evening, all the shades of the Black women came to visit Harry with wishes for the New Year. Miss Ellie embraced him and said : “May your enemies fall before your feet.” Miss Vinnie gave him a kiss on the forehead and said : “May you stand strong and tall amidst your peers.” Miss Charie smiled at him and said “May you find joy and fun in your life.” Miss Cedie, a little downcast, came and said : “May you avoid the meddling in the affairs of wizards more powerful than you.” Miss Charie gave a glare at Miss Cedie and said in response : “May you be a powerful wizard so that you don’t have to concern yourself with the lesser fold.” Miss Wallie appeared and said : “Hm, you’re still alive. Stay that way,” and disappeared. Harry was delighted, it was like a marvellous blessing coming from Miss Wallie. Miss Dorie came last. She embraced him and kissed both his cheeks. She said : “Son of my son, may you make us proud.”

Then the shades disappeared, except for Miss Charie who had taken to stay a little when Harry was preparing for bed, to tell him all the scandalous or extraordinary tales of the Black family.

A few days later, it was Christmas morning. Harry didn’t think he’ll have a lot of presents and he was mostly right, there were only three or four packages on his trunk at the foot of the bed. But it was a better haul than any other year so he was happy.

He found a box of assorted chocolate animals from Draco who knew he didn’t know the magical sweets very well : frogs that jumped, lions that roared, snakes that slithered. He quickly closed the box so none of his sweets escaped.

There was a book on mysterious magical creatures from Prefect Flint which made Harry blush a bit.

And there was a big shapeless gift that was a bit of a surprise. There was no name and no card with it. When Harry opened it, it looked like a gigantic cloak he wouldn’t be able to wear until he was at least seventeen, but when he tried it anyway, he saw his lower body up to the shoulders disappear.

He whistled between his teeth. This was an Invisibility Cloak. It was quite priceless. He immediately called for the bound elf of his trunk and give it to him with the instructions to protect it at all cost and never give it to him if he didn’t give the password, which he invented at that moment.

Harry stayed a little on his bed, reliving that wonderful day, until a knock woke him up from his contemplations. Prefect Flint opened the door and said : “Come on, Potter, time to go to dinner. You don’t want to have Professor Snape come get you by the ears.”

Harry rubbed his right ear in memory of Professor McGonagall grabbing him there but quickly forgot about it as he launched himself at Prefect Flint, who didn’t expect it, and gave him a big hug while saying : “Thank you for the book, Prefect Flint, it’s awesome!” Prefect Flint nearly flinched on the assault but stood his ground and patted Harry on the back. “ Come on, Potter,” he reiterated.

They arrived at the Great Hall bedecked of glittering, shiny magic and decorations. It was like the ballroom of a palace, with only one table dressed in the middle of the room with silver candelabras and flowers between the plates of food.

Harry had a wonderful night, even though he was sit between Ron Weasley and the Hufflepuff he still didn’t know the name of. He gorged on turkey, cranberry sauce, roasted potatoes with gravy and a formidable dessert of chocolate pudding. As a tradition, there was a Sickle in the pudding and it was Prefect Flint who nearly cracked his tooth crunching on it. He also pulled crackers both with Ron Weasley and the nameless Hufflepuff, but let them have the gifts showering on them, as he wasn’t very interested by a chessboard with its pieces or a flowery bonnet that resembled the one Professor Dumbledore had put on his head to replace his traditional pointed hat.

At the end of the night, he got to his bed, all warm and cosy, and fell asleep happy.

***

On the day after Christmas, Harry was beginning to get a little bored, but he remembered the small satchel of runed marbles he had bought in Peripher Alley and decided to play with them.

He called to his bound elf to retrieve them and the little leaflet that came with it.

Contrary to what he had thought at first, the marbles weren’t designed with traditional runes on them but a kind of witches’ runes. He thought it was appropriate since he wasn’t taking the Rune class yet and the presence of anything witchy — or more than witchy — in his trunk would have had the Dursleys frozen in horror or screaming in terror. It pleased him.

Reading his leaflet, he saw the games were complicated and necessitated two or more players but having a Divination was simple enough. Simply put his hand in the satchel and retrieve successively four marble, which he could then interpret with the leaflet.

He did so and the witch runes that came were blood, bone, afterlife and danger.

Not very merry for Christmas holidays, he thought. And decided to make another try, but the same four runes came up again. After the third try, Harry decided that the runes were trying to tell him something except he didn’t know what it was exactly. Was he in danger because the bogeyman? Would the creature of blood and bone send him in the afterlife?

It turned out playing with the runes was useful to Harry because during dinner that night, there was a third attack by bogeymen, when everyone thought they were well clear and done with the monsters.

Walden McNair, who was sit with the Professors, took his huge axe as soon as the skeletal hand pushed open the door of the Great Hall and let out a battlecry that startled staff and students alike. They were not numerous, some Professors going home for the holidays and a few students staying at the castle. How would they repeal the attack? 

There were two creatures there, dripping blood from their mouths as if they had eaten. No human was missing, but there were also House Elves serving in the castle.

Headmaster Dumbledore rose from his seat and took the lead of the defence, sheltering the students behind him while Professor McGonagall flanked his right and Professor Snape flanked his left. Professor Trelawney was under the Head table, muttering about the Inner Eye and the apocalypse.

Hagrid arrived from his hut, behind the two monsters and began to shoot with his crossbow. The quarrels stuck in the withering flesh of the bogeymen who let out shrieks and booming cries before deciding to attack the most bountiful target inside the Great Hall, instead of the lone hunter outside.

Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were Transfiguring the ground into ice, the tables into catapults, the chairs into spikes but only succeeded in slowing down the two creatures. A flurry of spells were whooshing through the air with little effect. But the Headmaster and the Transfiguration Professor were Light wizards at heart and they couldn’t cast Dark spells, even against a cannibalistic enemy who wanted to eat them and their students for dinner.

McNair was on one of the bogeyman while the other was occupied by the Light spells. He was chopping at its arms, hacking at his legs, getting a splatter of dead flesh and little fragments of bones on himself, but he wouldn’t stop.

Professor Snape was trying to sit on Prefect Flint who wanted to go help Walden McNair in slicing and dicing the bogeyman with his bare hands. Flint hadn’t forgiven the scar he had taken from that first encounter and he wanted to pay it back.

Harry decided he had to do something. He crawled on his elbows and knees towards the position of Professor Snape and prayed that Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn’t hear him around the cacophony in the Great Hall. Harry extended his right hand, folding two fingers and turning his hand sharply to the left. He aimed at the bogeyman being attacked by McNair and said in a very low voice : “Volnero hostis cruor.”

The bogeyman stopped and bellowed in pain, extending his arms. McNair used that moment to cut the right arm of the creature, which roared in fury and attacked with the claws of his left arm. McNair parried with his axe and went back to combat again.

Harry readjusted his position, folding his middle finger and slowly turning his hand to the left again, said very low : “Hebeto hostis osseum.” The movements of the bogeyman began to turn slow and choppy and soon McNair had cut his other arm, then his head. He used his heavy boots to crack and break the major bones of the bogeyman not broken yet.

Prefect Flint grabbed Harry by the ankles and forced him to retreat well behind the lines of Professors.

“What do you think you’re doing, you little idiot?” Flint accused, his tone harsh and cutting.

“Stopping you from getting killed, you big moron,” Harry answered on the same tone.

Prefect Flint gently cuffed Harry’s head and told him to stay put this time, because apparently the grown-ups could do the work they were paid to do. Except for Professor Trelawney, but no one counted on her anyway.

The remaining bogeyman howled at the loss of his partner and his claws began to destroy the barricade of wood and stone that Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had erected to protect the students. Bits of wood and stone were thrown away and showered the students who quickly put their hands on their heads to protect them. One of the Weasley twins received a bigger fragment of stone at the base of the skull and was knocked out cold, the remaining twin trying to revive him without much success.

Professor Snape didn’t have an angle to cast at the second bogeyman which was beginning to make serious damages to the defences and which seemed to ignore McNair as the man tried inefficiently to butcher it. 

The Hufflepuff had peed in this trousers, the large wet patch clearly visible, and was crying for his Mummy. Ron Weasley had wild eyes looking at the carnage around them and was shivering in fright. The Ravenclaws stayed huddled together near the back of Dumbledore, not considering they were blocking his retreat if need be.

Harry stayed low and tried to see if he could help. Even one spell could make the difference, as he had proved with the bogeyman taken down by McNair.

Suddenly, the monster turned away from the barricade and in a smooth movement, he impaled Walden McNair in the abdomen and lifted him up towards his mouth.

Harry wasn’t about to see someone else eaten alive. He raised his right hand and murmured : “Accito hostis dentem.” It was not enough to make the teeth fall out the maw of the monster but enough that he couldn’t use them to rend Walden McNair apart as they were moving and breaking little by little.

McNair was screaming in pain and horror as the claw that had impaled him moved, increasing his suffering and the gravity of his wound.

Fortunately no one, but Prefect Flint had noticed Harry doing the gesture and mouthing the words.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore moved from his position and Professor Snape finally had a field of vision that allowed him to cast without being prevented or impaired.

Professor Snape turned towards the creature and prepared to lauch the spells that had been so useful last time when he heard the voice of Walden McNair, distorted by the tremendous pain. The man was cursing the creature that had him at his mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, you shitty little bastard beast, I’m going to fuck you up and —” No one would ever know what Walden McNair wanted to do to the bogeyman after that, because in a rapid movement, the monster had turned and used his claws to cut McNair in four evenly cut morsels who fell to the ground with a sloshing sound, much to the disgust of everyone present. He leaned over it to begin to eat them.

Professor Snape took the time to instruct the students : “As you can see, cursing or swearing will bring the wrath of the bogeyman on you. Please refrain from it.”

He aimed at the monster and non-verbally cast. Adfligo cruor. Adfligo osseum. Exitium osseum.

Combined with the spell damage the bogeyman had already taken from the spells of Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, it was enough for the bogeyman to fall bleeding on the floor, his entire skeleton breaking as he fell.

Headmaster Dumbledore spoke at last, his voice weary and fatigued by the assault he had merely contained and not stopped.

“It seems the Ministry was wrong about Mr Walden McNair being the right man for the job. He didn’t discover the source of the boggarts though he killed many of them over the last few months. He didn’t either discover the point of entrance of these bogeymen who attacked the school. Nor was he especially effective in combating them, axe or no axe.” Dumbledore straightened up and continued : “I shall have the Minister and Hogwart’s Board of Governors on a conference Floo-call this evening to clear things as we can.

“Before anyone goes back to their Common Room and their dorms to sleep away this awful night, the Professors and I will scout the corridors to make sure no threat lingers there.”

With these words, the Professors were gone, letting the students without protection — except Professor Trelawney who was still grovelling under the Head table. Fortunately, nothing happened and each student was taken back to their House with no more problems.

In his dorm, Harry fingered his witche’s runes absentmindedly and resolved to have at least one Divination a week, because the first one had been spot on.

***

Despite the protestations of parents and the injunctions of the Board of Governors, the school reopened its doors after the new Year, for a new term.

The Ministry hadn’t sent anyone to replace Walden McNair, though a national funeral was organised to praise the courage and fortitude of the man. It was attended by his coworkers and by a smattering of other folks, mostly pardoned Death Eaters, as McNair himself had been. That’s how Harry learnt that his own Head of House was a Death Eater once upon a time and that he had turned spy for the Order of the Phoenix and Headmaster Dumbledore.

The Ministry had tried to get the school to close, but had been rebuffed by Headmaster Dumbledore, who highlighted the inadequacies of Walden McNair and of the Ministry in general in managing the crisis. Minister Fudge had been outraged but had left well enough alone.

Harry learnt all that by reading a copy of the Daily Prophet Prefect Flint had left in the Common Room. He didn’t read the newspaper often. After all, he didn’t follow Quidditch or need his horoscope or even know the celebrities of the wizarding world, except one Neville Longbottom — and he saw enough of him at school, he didn’t want to read about him in the papers.

Draco came back from his holidays looking defeated and sad. He had smudges under his eyes which were red-rimmed. Obviously the fantastic holidays he had had in mind hadn’t been that fantastic. Harry tugged him towards him to say hello and to try to see if he could somehow how cheer his friend up.

“Are you all right, Draco?” He asked in a soft voice. “You look a little peaky.”

Draco sniffed and rubbed at his eyes, though he didn’t cry. “My father decided to have another child with my mother to raise him as the Malfoy heir. He said I wasn’t showing much promise in the area and he wouldn’t let the family fall into the hands of a weak Head of House when it was time for him to retire.”

“Oh, Draco,” Harry whispered. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. He never had parents to disappoint or to disapprove of what he was doing. The Dursleys didn’t count because whatever he was doing with them was the wrong thing. And the shades weren’t there permanently, they alternated and gave him a view of how to be a Black, while knowing he was still a Potter.

This was this idea that took root in Harry’s mind. He had once said to Draco that he was both a Malfoy and a Black, and maybe he could convey the lessons he had had with the shades to Draco so he could feel more easy with this one part of his heritage.

“Mother said to me,” Draco said, “that it doesn’t matter if I’m not the Malfoy heir, because I’ll still have the Malfoy name and the Black inheritance or part of it, from her.” Harry nodded, more to encourage Draco to continue than to tell him he agreed with the woman. “You told me once I was Malfoy and Black. How did you know?”

Harry said : “I don’t have much information on my parents, you know. Especially as my mother was Muggleborn.”

Draco interrupted : “But you live with her family, surely they could have told you something about her, what she was like, what she liked, what she was good at…”

“Draco,” Harry said with his voice a little wary, “my Aunt Petunia, my mother’s sister, hated her sister for being a witch and wanted nothing to do with her. That I live with them is a terrible burden to her. She wouldn’t talk to me about my mother except to tell me bad things, horrible things and to conclude that she was glad she was dead and wished I had died with her. So that doesn’t really count as information.

“Anyway,” Harry contined, “I decided to learn more about my family. I thought it was the Potters but when I looked, I could see how different they were from me, even my grandfather Charlus or my father James. So I researched the maternal side with Dorea Black as my grandmother, and I found a fantastic family which seemed to be much more like me. I learnt their genealogy — that’s how I knew you were a Black, because you’re on the genealogy board as the child of a Black — and when I could, I learnt their traditions, their customs, their histories. What they have done in the wizarding world and all that…”

Harry concluded : “I consider myself more of a Black than a Potter, even if my last name is Potter. Maybe that’s what your mother were trying to tell you.”

Draco wailed : “But I wanted to be a Malfoy!”

“You’re a Malfoy, Draco, just as I am a Potter,” Harry said soothingly, “it’s just that it’s not the only thing you are.”

Miss Dorie appeared as if called by the discussion of the Black family and said : “When… If young Malfoy is ready for his Black heritage to surface, you should tell him the rest of your secrets. About how you learnt everything you know and maybe serve as an interpreter between us and the young man, so we can determine his strengths. He looks a little like Charis, don’t you think?”

Harry cleared his throat and muttered : “That’s the blond hair. I’m not sure he would be comfortable with Miss Charie. Her speciality is keeping secrets and spilling them for maximum effect. I don’t see Draco doing that.”

Miss Dorie winked and said : “Maybe not yet.”

Draco called to him : “What were you saying Harry?”

“Nothing, nothing, just clearing my throat. I think I may have a little cold from the bad weather? It’s been snowing the all time you were away.” Harry answered and deftly diverted the conversation.


	7. Spring Term

The routine of classes came back easily to Harry, as his holidays had been fraught with danger and fear. He was delighted to have the opportunity to hide himself behind his Bathilda Bagshot’s book in History of Magic and ignore the droning monotone of Professor Binns, who taught as a ghost History of Magic. 

As the teacher seemed a bit obsessed with goblin rebellions, goblin insurrections and goblin revolutions, Harry used the class as a free period during which he studied his History book, which began by the founding of wizarding communities amongst the Muggles, continued to the Statute of Secrecy and ended with the war against the Dark Lord Grindelwald.

Harry supposed the events of 1981, with the rise of the Dark Lord Voldemort and his sudden demise while his group of Death Eaters were winning was a bit too recent to be in a book that had been used to teach History of Magic for nearly twenty years. That was the publication date on the book, 1976.

Harry was taking notes about the witches’ burning in the Middle Ages while Professor Binns put the class to sleep with another battle between goblin and humans, before the founding of the bank Gringotts. Harry was thinking that at one moment, the teacher would be out of battles to teach about and what would he do then, he thought. Draco was sitting beside him, doodling on his parchment.

The Gryffindor side of the room was a lot more chaotic. The students were playing hangman or chatting as if the teacher was invisible, which he kind of was, as a ghost. Some of them had turned their books into pillows (good Transfiguration, that) and were taking a nap.

“Harry,” Draco said softly. “Would you tell me more about the Black family?”

Harry turned towards Draco in surprise. Up until this moment, Draco hadn’t wanted to know anything that would separate him or alienate him from the Malfoy family. “Why are you asking now?” He asked.

Draco dropped his eyes and answered : “I’ve been writing to my mother a lot, you know.” He looked at Harry beneath his eyelashes. “She told me what she knew, about her family, but they were a minor branch with three daughters, so no one to continue the Black line.” Draco took a breath and finished. “She also told me that not only was your grandmother a Black, but your godfather was one too. Even though he had been in Gryffindor. Is that how you know so much about the family?”

Harry pinched his lips and answered carefully : “My godfather died defending Longbottom’s mother, Draco. He’s long dead and I don’t remember him, just as I don’t remember my parents.”

Draco looked down in embarrassment : “I didn’t know. That’s too sad. But then how —”

“Let’s not talk about this here, all right?” Harry answered.

The class was soon finished after that and the Gryffindors, full of arrogance and self-importance, pushed the Slytherins out of the way to get out of the classroom first. The Slytherins grumbled but didn’t make a scene. After all, the instructions of not fighting and not getting in an argument with other Houses was still maintained in place by their Head of House.

Harry and Draco had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs after that and the class promised to be calmer but also colder, as they were still ran in the greenhouses which let gusts of wind enter through holes in the glassed ceiling and windows.

Professor Sprout welcomed them and suggested the students all put their gloves and provided some earmuffs. At first, Harry thought it was for the cold and was grateful, but as the teacher explained, it was because they were going to finish the work of the Second Years on baby mandrakes who needed to be re-potted. The Second Years’ class had been especially disrupted with students heckling each other in taking off the earmuffs. It was true the ear protections were a bit ridiculous, but as the students did take them off, they were struck by the terrible cries of the mandrakes and fainted dead away.

Harry was glad he didn’t share this class with the Gryffindors because it would have been hell. It was difficult enough to take the wriggling baby mandrakes without being bitten and put them in large pots from which they tried to escape, without having Gryffindors jeering at them at the same time. The Hufflepuffs were a tranquil bunch who worked hard and helped anyone with difficulties. 

Professor Sprout was especially proud of her well-behaved First Years (compared to the terrible Second Years) and awarded twenty points to both Huffflepuff and Slytherin for a good effort at coordination and working together.

All the Slytherins were content with the way the day was going, but it wasn’t going to last for much longer. As soon as they were out of the greenhouse, they were attacked a large quantity of snowballs, some of them having rocks inside. 

Daphne Greengrass received one of those in her face and was bleeding profusely from her slipped lip. She began to cry.

Theo Nott was shouting at the rest of the Slytherins : “Enough is enough, I know we’re not supposed to be retaliating, but they think they can do whatever they want!”

Some First Years agreed with him and wanted to send back trapped snowballs while others wanted to maintain the status quo imposed by Professor Snape. The group was still debating, pelted by snowballs when the leader of the retaliation group, Theo Nott, took an iced snowball on the head and dropped, his blood colouring the snow in red.

Harry ran towards the greenhouse where Professor Sprout was surprised to see him and he explained in a few words that there was a snowball fight outside with things gone wrong and at least one student badly injured.

Professor Sprout went out rapidly and took several snowballs, including one with a rock inside, on her body. She went from mother hen to harpy in less than a second. She shrieked at the Gryffindors who had led the ambush and took fifty points for unchivalrous behaviour and another fifty for attacking a Professor. She screamed about detention for the rest of the year.

Then she saw Theo Nott on the ground, with blood pooling around him and Daphne Greengrass with blood dripping from her lip, and immediately conjured a Patronus to send to Madam Pomfrey : “Head injury of unknown gravity, but the boy is unconscious and a girl with slipped lip.”

The Gryffindors had scattered like frightened rabbits when Madam Pomfrey arrived. She had a stretcher with her and took Theo on it, then controlling the stretcher with her wand, she took the hand of Daphne to lead them to the Hospital Wing.

***

At dinner that night, the Slytherin table was a bit quiet — not that they made a lot of noise usually, but the conversation was stilted, as the health status of Theo Nott was still unknown. He hadn’t regained consciousness yet.

By contrast, the Gryffindor table as loud and bragging about their victory against the Slytherins in what they called ‘The Super Snowball Contest’.

After a long discussion with Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall was livid. Not only her House had lost a hundred points — a loss almost impossible to compensate in time to win the House Cup — but they had ambushed other students and attacked them without provocation. It might have been a prank if the projectiles had only been snowballs, but snow packed around a rock and iced snowballs were weapons that could hurt someone badly, as proved by the little eleven year-old still unconscious in the Hospital Wing.

Professor McGonagall didn’t like it, especially as she was fiercely proud of her House and her little lions, but they had gone too far this time. She would set them straight in public so that everyone would know she was not a pushover.

Professor McGonagall stood up on the dais and tapped her glass with her fork, making a tintinnabulating sound that stopped all speech in the Great Hall.

She spoke : “Today, some First Year Gryffindors attacked without motive and with premeditation a group of First Year Slytherins. I use the word attack voluntarily. This is not a prank to disfigure an eleven-year old girl or to knock unconscious an eleven-year old boy. There was no retaliation from the Slytherins, so my Gryffindors think they got off lightly. It will not be so. If the perpetrators do not denounce themselves and submit to detention, then all the Gryffindor First Years will be in detention for the next two weeks.”

This was a technique that Professor Snape had taught her to rout out a small group of trouble-makers and with a little luck, the peer pressure would do the rest of the job.

The students at the Gryffindor table were now glaring at the Slytherin table, as if it was their fault for getting hurt.

Hermione Granger was raising her arm in the air and waving frantically to attract the attention of her Head of House who said : “Yes, Miss Granger?”

“It’s unfair to use punishment on students who haven’t done anything, I don’t see why I should be punished for a snowfight I had no part of and that’s the case of most of us First Years.” Granger seemed a little breathless after saying her piece.

Professor McGonagall responded : “I understand that, but amongst the qualities that are recognised as Gryffindor, there are bravery, yes, chilvary, yes but also honesty.” She paused. “I simply demand honesty from the culprits so that the rest of their comrades don’t have to pay for their misdeeds.” She looked at the table with narrowed eyes : “If those responsible don’t come and tell it to me, then I will be forced to consider them not Gryffindor enough to stand by their actions and take the punishment they deserve.”

Groans and growls were heard from the Gryffindor table as Upper Years were scolding the First Years quite fiercely as well. It was about the honour of their House, now.

The next day, the whole school knew that Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown had detention for the next two weeks, even if Brown’s involvement was simply to pass the snowballs to the shooters.

The four students were humiliated, especially Longbottom, as he never had a detention before, whatever horsing around he could have done.

The Slytherins went on ignoring them, as if they were beneath their notice, and that apparently got on the nerves of Longbottom who staged a confrontation with Potter, who he had taken as his rival since the argument they had had at the Halloween Feast.

“Happy, now, are you, Potter?” Longbottom sneered, his face distorted by rancour and resentment.

Harry looked up and turned his head right and left. He was alone in the corridor with Longbottom. He answered carefully : “You’re not the first schoolboy put in detention, Longbottom.”

“You denounced us.” Longbottom was advancing on him and Harry was scuttling back a little.

“I did nothing of the sort, I didn’t even know it was you before you denounced yourselves!” Harry retorted.

Longbottom was drawing his wand. “You are slimy liar, you do everything you can to get us into trouble and then you want to appear all innocent, but it doesn’t work with me. Your parents should have taught you not to mess with a Gryffindor.”

“My parents have been dead as long as yours, you prat, and they were both Gryffindors!” Harry answered, the red of anger beginning to tint his cheeks. He couldn’t believe the other boy had forgotten.

“It was just a little prank, it didn’t deserve so much detention, except you had to run to a teacher, did you?” Longbottom was scowling now.

“Tell that to Theo Nott who’s still in the Hospital Wing with a concussion.”

Longbottom sneered again : “He deserved it! You all deserve it!”

Harry was at loss at what to answer to so much hatred concentrated in so few words. “What have we done to you?”

“You exist.” Longbottom answered. He raised his wand and cast Impedimenta on Harry, who fell on his behind and hit his head on the floor. Then before he could try to sit up and stand, Longbottom cast Tarantallegra on him. The movement was like epilepsy, with head, and arms, legs shaking and shuddering and shivering. To someone with experience with Dark curses, it would have looked like the Cruciatus curse was used on Harry.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape arrived at the corridor at the same moment, one from each end, and they both reacted as people who had been through a war, casting, Incarcerous and Expelliarmus in quick succession on Longbottom, then Finite Incantatem on Harry.

Longbottom tried to talk himself out of having attacked an unarmed opponent — Harry hadn’t drawn his wand — using forbidden curses. As Harry had hit his head quite hard on the floor, had bitten his tongue and was feeling a bit woozy, it wasn’t difficult to see him as more hurt than he actually was. Professor Snape took twenty points and Professor McGonagall decided that Longbottom would be on restriction for at least a month. She wouldn’t tolerate the bullying behaviour of one of our lions. She still looked at Harry a bit suspiciously but didn’t say anything.

Professor Snape accompanied Harry to the Hospital Wing to be seen to by Madam Pomfrey. Harry sighed and let himself be led towards the bleach odour of the Hospital Wing without much enthusiasm.

***

Draco visited Harry when he was in the Hospital Wing, as soon as he knew he was there. Harry reassured him that he wasn’t wounded, except for when he had bitten his tongue and that was quite minor.

“Why are they keeping you in the Hospital Wing, then?” Draco asked, a bit bewildered by all the racket done about a duel gone wrong.

Harry answered : “Apparently, I was gesticulating on the floor like someone under the Crucio, so they want to make sure my nervous system is all right.” Harry sighed. “It doesn’t seem to matter that I told them it was only a Tarantallegra jinx we learn in Defence Against the Dark Arts, they still want to check. And I have to stay overnight too.”

“What do you think will happen to Longbottom now?” Draco was curious.

“Oh, he’s on restriction,” Harry said with relish. “He’s not allowed out of his Common Room without being escorted by Prefects, even to go to the Library or to class or to the Great Hall. And it’s going to be for a whole month.” Harry chuckled a little. “I’m sure the Gryffindor Prefects will be fed up with him before the month is out.”

“That’s great!” Draco said, laughing. “He deserved it, the berk.” Changing subject, Draco asked : “Is there something you want from our dormroom to pass the time until tomorrow?”

Harry thought a little about it. He didn’t want to do homework because he wasn’t late on anything. He didn’t have anything to read… or did he?

“Yes, you can bring me the book on mysterious magical creatures I have, I’d like to read a little bit about them,” Harry said.

“Woo, the Prefect Flint’s gift…” Draco teased. “ Are you sure he’s not your boyfriend, Harry?”

Harry flushed and said : “Stop being a prat about that. He’s not my boyfriend, he’s like a million years older than me. It’s just… he’s nice and I like him.” At Draco making a mooning face at him, he added : “Not like that, you’re really stupid!”

Draco laughed again and left to get the book.

Miss Ellie appeared and decided to talk a little to Harry about what to be careful about in romantic entanglements. No matter the way Harry tried to tell her he was too young and he had no romantic entanglements, she shushed him and went on with her advice.

“When courting or being courted by a young man of a decent family, it’s important that he treats you as the most precious person in the world, even before his friends or his family. It isn’t true of course for you, as your first loyalty must always be to the Blacks…”

“Gifts are especially important, as they are a representation of what your lover feels for you. It’s not that gifts must be big or expensive, they must be well-thought out and unique…”

“You should never allow a lover to take liberties with your body that you haven’t discussed before, or he will feel himself entitled to pleasures that are not his to take…”

Harry was delighted when Draco arrived back with the book because it stopped the speech of Miss Ellie which embarrassed him mightily. Of course, Draco teased him about his alight face when he arrived with the Flint book as he called it and that embarrassed Harry as well.

Harry shooed him away, as Madam Pomfrey came to poke and prod him again and take measurements of all kind about his health, with her wand twirling and twisting in an almost artistic manner.

“You seem to be good health, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said. “But a night in the Hospital Wing won’t hurt you. I’ll dismiss you in the morning in time for you to go back to your House to shower and change, and have breakfast. You’ll be ready to go back to class.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Harry answered.

Harry took advantage of the last lights of the day — it was already late — to read about the bogeyman. He wanted to know more about them and there was a passage that particularly interested him though it was described as more mythology than reality.

It is said that the bogeymen have existed since the beginning of times, when they were living in the shadows of the world, hunting for easy prey, mostly children. This is how the bogeyman became a figure of legend in the Muggle world where parents threaten their children with a visit from it if they don’t behave. 

In the wizarding world, the bogeyman is a solitary creature, often having its own territory and protecting it from other predators.

Nevertheless, as the origins of the bogeymen remain obscure even for researchers of Magical Creatures, the myth of the Mother of bogeymen came into existence. A monster no one has ever seen or really heard of, a rumour that some people called Bloody Bones, because bogeymen are made of bloody bones.

Harry thought back at his witchy runes and the three draws he had made that said blood, bone, afterlife, danger. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking that maybe, just maybe there was something more than just a prediction for the attack he had suffered that night.

***

The following morning, Harry was woken up at dawn by Madam Pomfrey who officially released him out of the Hospital Wing. He made his way back to Slytherin dungeons and silently entered his shared dormroom with Draco. The other boy was sleeping peacefully, letting small snores escape his nose.

Harry went to his elf-bound trunk and requested warm underwear, a woollen uniform, a woollen cloak, his mittens and a woolly hat. He took the underwear and clothes with him into the small bathroom, not wanting to walk half-naked in the cold of the dungeons. He took a warm shower, thanking Merlin for magic because Muggle plumbing would have taken ages to have hot water. Then he dressed himself for the day.

Once out of the bathroom, he saw Draco awake already, but still covered with his duvet as his teeth were chattering.

“Hey, you’re back!” He said, with joy in his voice. He really didn’t like to stay alone, in the dungeons or anywhere else.

“You’re a master of the obvious, Draco,” Harry teased. “Do you want help to locate your woollen uniform because the temperature is well below zero, so you need to bundle yourself up.”

“It’s fine, it’s not like my trunk was a mess…” Draco drawled. “But speaking of trunks, you never explained the trick with yours.”

Harry was a bit hesitant but Miss Dorie appeared and gave him a sign of approval. He nodded to her.

“All right. It’s a bit complicated though,” Harry began. “You know how some wizards, or some line of wizards have certain specialities or certain abilities that aren’t shared with the rest of the magical population?” Draco inclined his head. “Well, I have an ability like that.”

Draco was eager to know more and interrupted : “What is it?”

Harry was getting a bit nervous about unveiling his secret but this was his friend Draco who also wanted to know more about being a Black. Maybe they would be Blacks together.

“Erm, I can see when dead people who aren’t ghosts haven’t crossed the veil.”

“What?” Draco answered, completely dumbfounded. “It’s not possible, when someone dies, either they cross the veil to the otherworld or they decide to stay as ghosts, there’s no in-between.”

“There is.” Harry said. “Let me explain about the trunk. One family, the Princes, were very adept at Death Magic. I trust you know that.”

“Of course, I know that, Professor Snape is the last of the Princes and he used to scare me with horror stories of his mother’s family when I was a little boy. How they had killed house-elves and bound them into trunks to have them do their bidding just as they did in the house…” Draco stopped talking. “Do you mean to tell me they really bound the souls of the elves to the trunks?”

“Yes, they did. Though I’m not sure it’s their soul, but it’s their essence. The essence of service with cleaning, repairing, managing and all that,” Harry explained. “Except as the essence was not a ghost — because House-Elves ghosts wouldn’t be corporeal so they couldn’t do the work — but it also hadn’t passed the veil, then the Princes couldn’t find a way to communicate with them. The Elves were in a sort of limbo, an in-between.”

“And that’s what you have?” Draco asked.

“That’s what I have, an Elf-bound trunk, which is why my things are always in good order and I can request things from it. There’s actually an Elf who calls himself Trunky doing all this.” Harry answered.

“That’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever heard,” Draco exclaimed.

The most extraordinary thing is that Professor Snape is of the Prince family, Harry thought. He’s been quite decent to me when I wasn’t expecting it, so I hope Miss Ellie and the rest of the shades won’t want to take revenge for what his ancestor has done to them.

Harry reminded Draco of his word given as a Black not to reveal Harry’s secret, even to his godfather or his parents and Draco reluctantly agreed. This time he had pithy news to share, except he couldn’t.

Draco hadn’t asked yet if Harry saw other people than Trunky in the limbo world and Harry was content to let it lie for the moment.

After a morning sharing his secrets, Harry felt a little raw and wasn’t in the mood for discussion. They had a hearty breakfast with a lot of hot tea, hot porridge, hot sausages and hot scrambled eggs. The weather really had turned for the worse with February.

Their first class would be Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws then Charms with the Gryffindors.

Professor McGonagall welcomed them in class with stern words as usual : “Today, we’ll be learning about how visualisation makes the same Transfiguration different for each individual. To this effect we will use patterns. You’ll work with a white mouse.” A cacophony of little squeaks was heard as twenty or so mice were trying to escape their cage. “You’ll transfigure it into a cup. But the cup must not stay white, it must be patterned with colours, or forms, or designs. I leave it to your imagination.”

She then went to explain the spell they would be using and the wand movement. She had them training with it without the mice so that everyone could know how to do the spell without the mouse escaping their hands while they learnt.

Professor McGonagall then distributed the mice, one mouse for each student, and set them to work.

Harry had learnt the hard way not to use the Transformo spell Miss Ellie had taught him in his very first class, because he had been heard by the Professor once and had to copy ‘I will learn the proper way to transfigure as taught by my instructor’ a hundred times. His hand had cramped after that.

He held his mouse firmly in his right hand and used his left hand to aim, swirl and cast the spell at the little animal. He had a white teacup with the tail of the mouse still protruding from the china. Professor McGonagall gave him a disappointed look — nothing unusual there — and Harry didn’t wait for her to point his mistake, before undoing the Transfiguration and trying again.

Draco was doing the same, but he succeeded in making a teacup with flowers, except the teacup was still hairy. He sighed and went to do it all over again.

Several Ravenclaws and Slytherins had succeeded and were congratulated by the teacher.

Harry focused and imagined the china service at the Dursleys, little cups with daisies badly painted on them. He concentrated then cast the spell again. It was a success. It was exactly the cup.

Professor McGonagall wasn’t impressed : “The daisies on your cup seemed to be deformed and the painting leaking a bit. You should try again.”

Harry thought it was useless to tell her the cups in his relatives’ house were exactly like that and tried again, but he didn’t have a lot of imagination concerning teacups, or patterns. Needless to say, he didn’t garner any point nor receive any accolade for his work, as usual in Transfiguration.

Draco received five points for making a superb cup with delicately painted flowers, without any fur this time. It was probably the tea service they used at Malfoy Manor anyway, Harry thought.

After Transfiguration was Charms, which Harry dreaded a little because it would be his first class with the Gryffindors since he’d been in the Hospital Wing ‘recuperating’ from his wounds. He had nothing to worry about, as the Gryffindors who entered the room ignored him, until Neville Longbottom arrived accompanied by Percy Weasley, Fifth Year Prefect, who said quite loudly : “Try not to torture anyone until I’m back in an hour, okay? You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

Longbottom was red to the tip of his ears but stayed silent and sat alone on a bench at the back of the class.

Harry shushed Draco who would have said something witty and insulting, because he didn’t want Longbottom winded up against him again. Once was enough.

Professor Flitwick was talking about charms about shoes : how to clean them, how to shine them, how to knot the laces. It wasn’t the most exciting class but Harry learnt a lot, because he had had to clean shoes before, and a magical way to do it was an improvement on elbow grease.

***

Several days passed with nothing out of the ordinary until Potions class on Wednesday.

They were working on the Cold Cure Potion, also called the Pepper Up potion, because the stores of the Hospital Wing were depleted after an epidemic of colds, especially from girls who didn’t want to stop wearing their short skirts under their robes.

Harry and Draco were still working on the left side of the room at the first table, the worktable they had claimed the first day of Potions. It was a smart move because Professor Snape could spot mistakes more easily, making it less likely their cauldron who blow up in their faces, but also because the Professor was more likely to give points for the first well-brewed potion he saw than the second, the third or Merlin forbid the last.

Harry was taking care of the bicorn horn while Draco was slicing the mandrake root, and their potion was nearly finished. It would be concluded by the spell that made steam come out of the drinker’s ears for quite a long time, but the First Years weren’t allowed to cast that spell. Professor Snape had explained he would take the more worthy potions and finish them himself before delivering them to Madam Pomfrey to replenish her stock.

With a glance, Harry looked towards the worktable of Longbottom and Weasley where he was sure a catastrophe was in the making. He saw he was right. Longbottom had barely chopped the mandrake root in uneven parts and Weasley didn’t seem to know quite to do with the bicorn horn — the answer was powder it, not put it whole in the cauldron.

While Harry and Draco’s potion turned cerulean blue and stop boiling, Longbottom and Weasley’s cauldron began to belch loudly and exhale fumes that made everyone in the class cough and sneeze. Professor Snape waved his wand to open the ventilation system and Vanished the offending potion.. He then began to rant, almost more to himself than to his victims : “For years, I have had incompetent students, clumsy students, chattering students or shy students unable to ask a question, but it’s the first year, the very first year that I have students that don’t know how to read!” He swirled and turned to Ron Weasley. “Mr Weasley, would you kindly read the fifth line of the instructions on the board?”

Weasley seemed paralysed and unable to answer.

Professor Snape turned to Neville Longbottom and said : “What about you, Mr Longbottom? Can you read the fifth line of the instructions?”

Longbottom didn’t answer either, as humiliation was reddening his face.

Professor Snape continued, still eyeing the other cauldrons for any mishaps. “I will of course refer to Headmaster Dumbledore that some First Years, which I will gladly name, came to Hogwarts without knowing how to read and —”

Professor Snape stopped as he saw a skeletal hand grabbing the door of the Laboratory and forcing it open. It seemed they were under attack by another bogeyman. Professor Snape sent several Patronus calling for help, one to the Headmaster, one to Professor Flitwitck, one to Professor Quirrell and one to Poppy Pomfrey for her to have help available if need be.

Professor Snape then ordered the worktables cleared and every student to come behind him, as he would serve as a human shield and sword for the twenty-something eleven years old in the room.

At the back of the class, Neville Longbottom was taking his sweet time and Ron Weasley, even though he had witnessed the attack in the holidays, decided to imitate him.

“Come here right now, you dunderheaded children!” Professor Snape shouted.

The bogeyman was inside the room now and extended his claws towards the two tardy students. Longbottom avoided them but Weasley took a wound in his back as the pointed nail of the creature ripped apart his clothes in order to find flesh. The bogeyman licked his claw where some of Weasley’s blood was and growled in pleasure.

“Whatever you say,” Professor Snape said softly, “don’t swear or curse. It makes them very aggressive and liable to grab and eat you.”

Weasley was crying and wailing at the scratch he had taken, which was quite deep. He said to his friend : “It’s your fault, you said if we didn’t fear it, it couldn’t hurt us…” Longbottom was looking at him like he didn’t understand what had happen.

“What complete hogwash! Walden McNair wasn’t scared of it and he was killed by one. You saw it happen, Weasley!” Harry said, a fiery anger in his voice at the bad counsel of Longbottom.

“I didn’t,” Weasley replied. “I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t want to see those two monsters, that was too scary.”

“See,” Longbottom interjected, “you’re scared so you got hurt. You’re not Gryffindor enough. But I am, I don’t have even a graze on me.”

While this debate as going on, Professor Snape began to chant the spells that had been so useful before. He even did it out loud, as he doubted any First Year but Harry would recognise them as Dark Arts.

“Adfligo cruor. Adfligo osseum. Exitium osseum.”

The bogeyman slowed, bent and his bones cracked but he got back on its feet and continued his advance towards the group of students.

Harry saw this and bumped into several people to see the creature. It was obviously wounded, but looked more solid than its predecessors.

Harry tried old spells : “Ignesco hostis cruor. Ignesco hostis medulla. Ignesco hostis osseum.” That was for the spells about fire. “Volnero hostis cruor. Volnero hostis medulla. Volnero hostis osseum.” That was for the spells about pain. “Hebeto hostis cruor. Hebeto hostis medulla. Hebeto hostis osseum.” That was for the spells about death. He said them in a very low voice and Professor Snape repeated them with his wand aimed at the bogeyman who fell but still crawled. 

Harry tried something new and simply said : “Exstinguo.”

The bogeyman shuddered and when Professor Snape repeated the spell with his wand, the bogeyman went still, his bones slowly disintegrating.

The class cheered, just as the reinforcements arrived and Madam Pomfrey took charge of Ron Weasley, who was the only light casualty of the attack.

Professor Snape turned towards Harry and put a hand on his shoulders. “Maybe we should have another talk, you and I, Mr Potter. Though I’m grateful for your help, I’m also very concerned about your knowledge. Please come see me after dinner in my office.”

He then weathered the congratulating pats he received for having protected his class so well.

***

Harry went to dinner with a heavy heart. He didn’t answer much of Draco’s chatter about the attack, nor did he answer his questions about what he had whispered to Professor Snape during the battle. He was deep in thought, thinking about what he would say to Professor Snape.

The dessert of dinner was treacle tart, which was one of Harry’s favourite, but he didn’t have the heart or the stomach to eat it now, he was too upset by the prospect of revealing his secrets. Especially to an adult, whose family had cursed his. How could he trust that his Head of House would believe him and not ship him to the closest asylum for being mad or worse the closest prison for being dangerous?

After dinner was finished, Harry went down to the dungeons towards the office of Professor Snape. He had to get rid of Draco who wanted to come with him, by saying it concerned disciplinary action, and Draco didn’t want to be caught in it — which Draco readily agreed.

Miss Dorie and Miss Ellie appeared beside him. It was great not to go into the serpent’s mouth alone and they whispered encouragements to him.

He knocked on the door and opened it when he heard the Professor call ‘Come in’ from inside.

“Enter, Mr Potter,” Professor Snape said. “And have a seat.” He had a small glass of alcohol in his hand, whisky or brandy or whatever was common in the wizarding world, Harry didn’t know. Harry just hoped he wouldn’t be a mean drunk like his Uncle Vernon was. “It seems to me we had a conversation like this one before, and I didn’t learn what I wanted because you used an interesting misdirection.”

Harry flushed and said : “I only told the truth, sir.”

“I know,” Professor Snape answered. “And it was a very Slytherin move to get me offended by what had happened to you and make me forget why I was talking to you in the first place.”

From his Head of House, that was a great compliment so Harry inclined his head and said : “Thank you, sir.”

Professor Snape took a sip then continued : “I don’t know if you realised it at the time, Mr Potter, but without your… help, shall we say, the bogeyman attacking the laboratory this afternoon would likely have gone on a carnage.”

From behind his lashes, Harry answered : “It seemed more solid and stronger than the ones I’ve seen before. But I don’t know why.” Harry took a breath. “I’ve been reading on bogeymen a bit and nothing like this is ever mentioned. They’re supposed to be solitary creatures living in the shadows and preying on easy targets, which isn’t the case in a magical castle full of teachers and grown-ups students, even if there are some younger ones.”

“So you’ve done research about the topic, Mr Potter,” Professor Snape said. Harry nodded. “Yet, I do not believe you began your research before the first attack, didn’t you?” Harry shook his head. “Then how did you know what kind of spells to use and how did you even know those spells? You realise everything we cast at the bogeyman is Dark Arts, therefore mostly forbidden.”

Harry gulped. Here came the moment to explain and pray that Professor Snape believed him. He began : “It’s quite a long story, if you don’t mind me beginning by the beginning.” The Professor bowed his head to give his assent.

“Last century —”

“Potter, please don’t waste my time with historical details that have nothing to do with the subject at hand!” Professor Snape interrupted.

“It has to do with the subject, sir. If I could just ask for a little patience?” The Professor nodded, frowning a bit now. “Last century, there was a scandal in which a Black woman called Elladora had an affair with a married Minister. The mother-in-law of that Minister was a woman called Evelyn Prince.” Professor Snape startled at the name and Harry blushed. “Actually one of your ancestors, sir. And Mrs Prince took offence against Elladora who was poaching her daughter’s husband and she cursed her with a… family curse.”

Professor Snape was concentrating and muttered : “Death magic.”

Harry pursued : “Yes, death magic. So when Elladora died, of natural causes I believe, well she couldn’t stay as a ghost but she couldn’t cross the veil either to go in the otherworld.”

“Get to the point, Mr Potter.” Professor Snape said, impatiently.

“It’s been the case for all the Black women who died since then, they’re in limbo. And… well, I seem to have the ability to see things in limbo so when my parents died, the shades came to me and taught me. How to be a Black, because my grandmother was a Black and she was amongst them. And also their family magic.”

Professor Snape had been on the point of interrupting again, when he focused on the words ‘family magic’ and said : “Blood magic, that’s the speciality of the Blacks!”

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered. “So I had help coming up with some spells, but I knew some of them already, due to the tutelage of Miss Ellie and Miss Wallie, I mean Elladora and Walburga Black.”

Professor Snape was scowling something fierce. “Why should I believe you, as you cannot prove anything of it?”

“As you said in our previous meeting, sir, I spent ten years isolated in the Muggle world so where would I have learn all this?” Harry replied. “And why would I invent a story liable to make me seem crazy and probably locked up in some kind of padded cell, or the equivalent you have in the wizarding world?”

“Something of an interesting discussion, Mr Potter.” Professor Snape agreed. “I trust you never used this kind of spells against your fellow human beings.”

Harry turned pale. The Professor eyed him with perspicacity and said : “Speak.”

Harry dithered a bit and began with his most recent use : “I used a mild temperature charm to elevate the blood temperature of Crabbe and Goyle so they would be a little sick, while they tormented Draco. They were pushing him around, and he fell and they used a Stinging spell on his face. It was just like a stomach bug with a fever.” Of course, Professor Snape wouldn’t leave well enough alone and continued to pierce Harry with a look that could see his most inner thoughts, so Harry confessed : “And I killed the man who raped me while he was doing it.”

“Very well, Mr Potter,” Professor Snape said. His nostrils flared. “Back to your dormitory with you. Dismissed.”

Harry still pale and a little in shock just said : “Good night, sir.”

***

Harry didn’t know what Professor Snape would do with the information Harry had just given him and Miss Dorie who was still with him reminded him he hadn’t sworn his teacher to silence either. Maybe Professor Snape would reveal his secret to other Professors : he tried to imagine what Professor McGonagall would do if she knew and it wasn’t hard to think she’ll try to get rid of him by any means.

What was more worrisome was what Headmaster Dumbledore would do. Harry had the impression the old man knew a lot even if he was distant enough from the children of the school, but he was powerful.

Harry was quite defeated by his lack of preparation for his interview with his Head of House and with all the secrets he had to spill, things he had never told anyone. He arrived at his bedroom quite downcast and Draco immediately thought Harry had had a dressing down from Professor Snape.

Draco was a good friend like that. He tugged Harry by the arm and had him sit on his bed.

“Are you all right?” He asked. “You look peaky. Did Professor Snape admonished you a lot about… whatever was it you had to see him about?”

Harry took a deep breath and decided to tell the truth to Draco. It would make sense to him that he felt a kinship towards the Black legacy that way, as he had been raised as a Black and not as a Mudblood at all. His head was churning with thoughts. Now that he kew some people, perhaps he should replace Mudblood by Muggleborn, the more politically correct term. After all, his own mother was one of them.

He was thinking so much that Draco grabbed his arm and shook it.

“I’m fine, Draco,” Harry said warily. “I just have a lot to think about, and my conversation with Professor Snape is only one of the subject.” He sighed. “But I guess it’s time to tell you as well.”

Draco kept his breath inside for quite a long time, as he waited for the revelation, then was forced to let it go in a big whoosh. He was obviously getting impatient, but Harry was choosing his words carefully.

“You remember when we talked about Trunky, right?” Harry asked. “How he was not a ghost but bot behind the veil either, in a sort of limbo…”

“Yes, of course, the Princes failed experiment, except for you,” Draco answered.

“Well, there are other people in limbo, which I can talk to and who talk to me,” Harry said. Seeing the question in his friend’s eyes, he answered it frankly. “Yes, it also has to do with the Princes. Masters of Death Magic, they were. And they cursed the females of the Black family at the end of the last century to become shades in limbo, never knowing the rest of the otherworld or interacting with the living like ghosts…”

“Except you,” Draco added again.

“Except me,” Harry confirmed. “That’s why I know so much about the Black family and its customs and its history. That’s why I consider myself a Black before I’m a Potter.”

“But why you?” Draco asked, with jealousy shining in his eyes. “Why you, and not me? My mother is a Black so I should be able to see them as well and talk to them. Unless you’re telling me a bunch of lies!”

“I’ve never lied to you, Draco,” Harry said, a little taken aback. “And the reason why is that I inherited the gift of the family magic. Blood magic. And my blood called to theirs, especially my grandmother.”

“But why don’t have I have family magic?” Draco asked again, with tears brightening his eyes. “Why you, and not me? Why don’t I have anything of value, not being the Malfoy heir, not having the Black family magic, not having or being anything?” After his tirade, Draco crumbled on himself and cried. Sobs were wracking his body and no soothing from Harry — who wasn’t very good at comforting people anyway — would calm him down.

Harry said sincerely : “You’re a Black, Draco, of course you have a special talent. All Blacks have special talents, you just have to find yours. It’ll be unique and completely yours.”

Miss Vinnie appeared, as she was at her best in emotional crises and said : “You’ve done enough, Harry. Time to help your cousin get into his pyjamas and get into bed. He needs sleep. He needs to rest to be able to think for himself instead of moping into self-pity.”

Harry nodded and whispered : “Yes, thank you, Miss Vinnie.”

Harry was holding Draco and trying to put him in his pyjamas, but the young boy was quite unresponsive. Harry put Draco under the sheets of his bed, then tucked the duvet and in an unthinkable impulse, he leaned above the prone form of his friend and said what Miss Wallie had told him in another time of crisis : “Black blessings be on you, Draco.”


	8. The End of The Year

Draco was a little distant from Harry after their discussion, but he nevertheless stayed close to him physically. Harry tried several times to engage a conversation on the possible talents Draco could have, but the was rebuffed quite curtly.

Harry took to playing with his witches’ runes once more. It didn’t matter how long he shook the satchel or how carefully he drew the runes from it, they were still delivering the same message. Draco looked from afar at Harry’s playing, seeing the frustration mount. Harry’s shoulders tensed and a grim frown was marring his otherwise calm features.

It was curiosity, more than anything else, that drew Draco back towards Harry. Harry explained what he had been doing with the runes and how he got the message that an attack was imminent from them, but that he couldn’t understand why the message stayed the same. Always blood, bone, danger, afterlife.

“I don’t think that’s what the message is, Harry,” Draco said softly.

“What?” Harry answered, a bit lost. “Yes it is, creatures of blood and bones — that’s the bogeymen — are a danger because they can kill you. It’s pretty simple, as a reading.”

“That’s not what I see,” Draco declared. “ And maybe the draw is always the same because you didn’t understand the message so it repeats itself again and again, in an effort to make a dent in your thick skull.”

“Oi,” Harry protested. “That’s not nice. I know you’re angry with me, but it’s no reason to criticise my intelligence which is just fine!”

Believing his friend would not listen to him, Draco withdrew back to his bed and took a book, to revise for the Charms exam that was coming soon. He pulled the curtains of his four-poster bed, in a sign that he didn’t wish to be disturbed anymore.

A shade appeared that Harry didn’t know. His eyebrows raised almost to his scalp because every new shade always had a companion to present her to Harry and explain why Harry could see them and how he was their link with the living world.

“Hello?” Harry said in a very low voice.

“Greetings, Harry Potter,” the shade answered. “I am Cassiopeia Black. I passed away early in 1992. It was a suicide. Not that I was unhappy or depressed. But I knew my family needed me to be dead. So I did it. I hadn’t much experience with death so I slashed my wrists in the bath, and I’m afraid I left quite a mess to clean up for my poor Elves. You may call me Miss Cassie, as you do with all my Black sisters.”

This was one of the weirdest introduction Harry had ever experienced.

“Why would the family need you to be dead, Miss Cassie?” Harry asked.

“Well, to help you, of course.” Miss Cassie answered as if the response was evident. “If I wasn’t dead, I couldn’t come and speak with you, on the subject of young Draco, could I?” Her eyes floated towards the curtained bed. “I tried to speak with Narcissa when I was alive. To explain why Draco was very different from the child she and her husband had wanted to rear as the Malfoy heir, why he was so sensitive to emotions when the Malfoys always employ a cold mask and why it was important he’s be trained so that his gift wouldn’t overwhelm him.” She sighed. “I tried several times, but Narcissa wouldn’t believe me then her horrid husband had me thrown out their property.”

“You know what Black gift Draco inherited, Miss Cassie?” Harry exclaimed. “That’s fantastic!”

Draco was stirring and moving because he had heard Harry’s voice. Harry blushed at his beginner’s mistake ; that’s how he had been discovered and punished at the Dursleys, so he should have remembered to keep his voice down.

“I know, because it’s the same gift than mine,” Miss Cassie said. “Draco is a Seer. He won’t have visions, or tell prophecies. But with the right instruments, he could tell the future.” Miss Cassie’s voice turned hard with her next words. “That’s what he was trying to tell you and you didn’t believe him.”

“You mean the runes?” Harry asked. “I’m really misreading the runes and the true meaning is something Draco can see?”

“Harry,” Draco called, “who are you talking to?”

“Erm…” Harry began to sweat a little. Talking about the shades was something that could make Draco angrier than he was, but this shade was there for him. “There is a new Black coming in limbo and well, she’s there more for you than for me.”

“What did you just say?” Draco asked, but it was obviously a rhetorical question.

“Miss Cassie, Cassiopeia Black, killed herself so she could speak with you, because your mother wouldn’t listen to her…” Harry answered tentatively.

“What did you just say?” Draco asked again, but much more emphatically.

“Miss Cassie… well, she was a Seer of sorts, not the Trelawney kind, the other kind,” Harry said. “And she knew you had a talent for it, that’s why you saw something in the runes that I didn’t see. She came because she knew I would be wrong and you would be right. And I had to know to tell you about it.”

Draco had opened his curtains and walked rapidly towards Harry. He grabbed him by the shirt and tie and began to shake him furiously. “You jerk, do you think this is funny to tell me this?” He spat.

“It’s the truth,” Harry said, trying to free himself from Draco’s grip. “You can ask your Mum about the visits her Great-Aunt Cassiopeia made to Malfoy Manor. Your father even threw her out.”

Draco stopped. He thought about it then said : “You’re right, Mother told me about it.” His eyes widened and he whispered : “She killed herself because my mother wouldn’t listen her?”

Harry tried to reassure Draco. “Not exactly. But you have a Black gift, just like I told you. Come and read me the runes, because I’m apparently not doing it right and you are.”

Draco plunged his hand in the satchel and drew the same four runes, but he rearranged them. Danger, blood, bone, afterlife. “That’s it, be careful because bloody bones are in the afterlife.”

Harry thought for a moment and went for his rare magical creatures book. “Bloody bones, bloody bones, I know I read something about that somewhere here.” He turned the pages until he found the ones referring to the bogeymen, then his fingers quickly searched for the passage he was looking for. “There! Listen to this ‘the myth of the Mother of bogeymen came into existence. A monster no one has ever seen or really heard of, a rumour that some people called Bloody Bones’. There’s something birthing the bogeymen in the castle, that’s why there have been so many, when they normally live solitary lives.”

Draco said : “We have to tell Professor Snape; he’ll know what to do about this.”

***

Despite the urgency of the information Harry and Draco had, they still had to go to class, as they couldn’t really play truant in a magical school. The portraits would denounce them, the suits of armour would block their way and the Elves would find them wherever they went.

So that evening, they went to their Astronomy class, which was the only class they shared with the Ravenclaws. It was a good thing, because Ravenclaws were very competitive and could even turn aggressive in a classroom setting. Outside of it, they were just people who kept their noses in their books to learn everything with a drive that rivalled Slytherin’s ambition.

Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, welcomed them in the glacial Astronomy tower. Considering the weather, they had the chance to have clear skies to study the stars through their telescope. Harry didn’t think it was a chance at all. He would have preferred it was raining or snowing, so as to have a theory class in one of the many warm classrooms downstairs or so as to have the class cancelled. Draco disagreed. Of course, as he had been named for a constellation, he was quite a fan of Astronomy. And now that he knew he had a talent for Seeing, he focused on the stars as tools to tell him the future as well.

“Tonight,” Professor Sinistra began, “we will study the twelve constellations of the horoscope. Who can tell me their names, their positions and their mythological significations?”

A dozen of Ravenclaws’ hands were raised in the air while a few Slytherins made the effort to raise their hands as well, though they didn’t have the totality of the answers.

To expedite the matter, Professor Sinistra selected three Ravenclaws — Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst and Padma Patil — who gave complete answers which the Slytherins copied down eagerly.

“Now to your telescopes,” Professor Sinistra announced. “I will distribute maps of the sky and you’ll place each constellation you find on them, put the names of the stars they consist of and determine their level of importance considering the Astronomy theory you learnt at the beginning of the year.”

There was a bit of chaos, as everyone wanted to place his telescope in an advantageous fashion, to see every constellation, but Professor Sinistra was quite strict and no mayhem ensued, only sighs of relief for those who had good places and sighs of disappointment for those who had bad places. 

Harry and Draco had bad places, but Draco knew his constellations quite well and didn’t need to see them exactly to place them on the map. Harry had a bit more difficulties, especially as Draco didn’t want him to copy on him. He however had a better memory about the names of the stars themselves and refused to communicate them to Draco in retaliation.

It was well past midnight when the class was over. The Ravenclaws were yawning and commiserating that they had Transfiguration the next morning. The Slytherins were tired as well but their schedule had a free period in the morning, so they would be able to sleep a bit longer if they were prepared to miss breakfast.

Harry and Draco decided not to rouse their Head of House at this hour, because he would be less likely to listen to them, if woken up abruptly or exhausted by his day and wanting to go to bed. Professor Snape was quite strict about the reasons and the times students could come to his office. He had office hours several times a week, but not every day and not on the week-end. Prefects were supposed to manage the affairs of the House.

There were office hours tomorrow. Harry and Draco decided they would see Professor Snape during those hours, so that if the meeting didn’t go well — the Professor might not believe them or might think they were putting their noses where they weren’t welcome — he wouldn’t accuse them of wasting his time as well.

Back to their dormroom, Draco and Harry were too tired to discuss what the day had been like for them : Harry’s confession, Draco’s temper tantrum and tears, Miss Cassie’s revelation and the solution to an enigma that had disrupted and wreaked havoc in the orderly and scholarly ambiance of Hogwarts. They both went to sleep without a word.

The following morning, Harry and Draco separated. Draco was going to breakfast and Harry was staying in bed, feeling that sleep would be more beneficial than food.

After their free period, they had History of Magic with Professor Binns and the Gryffindors. Binns was his usual self and began to drone about a goblin battle, putting most of the Slytherin who had stayed awake late to sleep, including Draco. Harry still read assiduously his book instead of listening to the lectures, and was learning a lot about wizarding culture and history.

Neville Longbottom, whose restriction was finally over, was glaring at him from the other side of the room. Harry couldn’t explain why the other boy had taken such a dislike of him in particular. Maybe because of his speech of Halloween night. Saying the Boy-Who-Lived wasn’t anyone special must be a first-class insult to Longbottom who enjoyed his status as a celebrity.

At the end of the class, Harry shook Draco awake.

“Come on, Draco,” Harry said. “You drooled on your parchment, it’s disgusting.”

“Let it be known that Malfoys — or Blacks — do not drool, nor do they snore,” Draco answered snottily. He was still very much the dignified pureblood when he could.

“Let’s go see Professor Snape about you-know-what,” Harry said in a conciliatory tone. He didn’t notice that his evasiveness had piqued the interest of Longbottom, who trailed slowly behind the two Slytherins descending towards the dungeons.

Draco knocked on the door of Professor Snape’s office and entered with Harry in tow.

“What can I do for you, Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter?” The Professor asked.

Harry decided to begin to explain because Draco seemed to be at loss how to do it.

“Sir, we believe we know the source of the bogeymen which have attacked the castle.” Harry drew a deep breath because it was important that Professor Snape believed them, especially as it was quite unbelievable. “I have a runic set of marbles used for Divination, and I didn’t want to take it seriously but the message always stayed the same, no matter how many times I drew the marbles so…”

At this time, Draco found his courage and continued : “We discovered I have a Seeing talent, from the Black family, and I was able to decipher the message. It said to be careful because bloody bones were in the afterlife.”

Harry pursued : “It wouldn’t have meant much, except I’ve read about it in Extraordinary and Rare Creatures by Newt Scamander, it was offered to me by Prefect Flint as a Christmas present. That’s the book in which I found the most information about bogeymen, as we previously talked about. The book mentioned as a legend the mother of the bogeymen, a mythical creature named Bloody Bones. What if it wasn’t a myth? What if there was a creature in the bowels of Hogwarts birthing bogeymen and that’s why there’s been so many attacks?”

Professor Snape raised his eyebrow : “So, you, Mr Malfoy, are a Seer and discovered by accident that a maleficent mythical creature is sending bogeymen into Hogwarts for no specific purpose and you, Mr Potter, think it’s confirmed by the mention of a legend in a book.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other. Draco turned his head away from the Professor and Harry bowed his Head but both answered : “Yes, Professor.”

“Well,” Professor Snape said, “at least it’s an interesting theory, which would necessitate to conduct a search in the deep corridors of the dungeons and the many abandoned rooms there are here. Which may be just the things for the new guests the school is going to have.”

Harry and Draco could detect the sarcasm in Professor Snape’s voice, but at least their concerns and information hadn’t been discarded right away.

When they opened the door after being dismissed, they found themselves face to face with Neville Longbottom who sneered and said : “Your Bloody Bones theory is stupid.” He obviously had been eavesdropping on the meeting. “But even if it’s true, I’m sure the Aurors and I can take care of it.” He turned around and walked away before Harry or Draco could ask what Aurors.

***

At lunch, Headmaster Dumbledore who rarely assisted to every meal was here. He stood up and cleared his throat several times to demand silence in the Great Hall. As everyone was already sitting and eating and chattering with their schoolmates, it took some time before complete silence was accomplished.

“Dear students,” Headmaster Dumbledore began, as if he was delivering a grandiose speech, “in its wisdom, after the failure of Mr Walden McNair from the Dangerous Creatures department in keeping at bay and locating the source of the bogeymen who have plagued Hogwarts for several months, the Ministry has decided to create a brigade of Aurors dedicated to the task. Therefore Auror John Dawlish, Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and Auror Alastor Moody have been dispatched to Hogwarts by Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour. Their role is primarily to protect you against further attacks and to get rid of the threat entirely if possible.”

The three Aurors stood up from their places on the dais and bowed to the crowd. 

“Please, a round of applause for our Aurors before they begin patrolling the corridors,” Headmaster Dumbledore asked.

The students half-heartedly clapped. Most of them hadn’t seen what had happened to Walden McNair but the few witnesses were eager to share the gore-ish story with their Housemates. So everyone knew about the demise of the burly man with his axe and Aurors, even three of them, didn’t seem to them better equipped to answer the threat, though there hadn’t been an attack since May in the Potions class.

Draco whispered : “That’s the guests Professor Snape hinted about last night.”

“And Longbottom told us as well.” Harry answered. “He must have known, either because Dumbledore told him or he has some sort of contact with the Aurors.”

“Longbottom? Having contacts at his age and using them? He’s a Gryffindor, Harry,” Draco said, “not a mastermind. It’s obvious Dumbledore informed him beforehand.”

“Yes, but what for?” Harry asked. “It’s not like Longbottom can really help the Aurors do anything.”

Draco shrugged. What did it matter anyway, he thought. Longbottom was a useless lump of a boy who believed courage was about never being scared and who had never encountered dangerous situations with no one at his back. At least, Draco and Harry knew being scared didn’t mean they were not brave and Harry would shelter Draco. Draco would do what he could to do the same.

Professor Snape stopped the Aurors as they were leaving the Great Hall, apparently explaining that most of the attacks had been concentrated on the lower levels of Hogwarts and indicating a search of the dungeons was a priority. Auror Moody growled an incomprehensible response, while the two others Aurors simply rolled their eyes. They walked out in direction of the towers.

“Well, it looks like the Aurors are simply stupid or they decided to be bothersome and not listen to our Head of House,” Harry muttered.

“Please tell me you don’t have Gryffindork thoughts,” Draco asked, his eyes wide, “and you don’t think we should patrol the dungeons ourselves.”

“Of course not!” Harry answered indignantly. “Or at least, not just the two of us.” He added. “We should ask Prefect Flint and Professor Snape.”

Draco scowled ferociously. “Let the heroics to the Aurors and let’s concentrate on our exams, which are in less than a week. You still have to work on your Transfiguration and revise Potions. And I want to make sure I’m not a complete dunce in History of Magic.” Warming up on the subject, he continued. “Obviously, my parents had me tutored from a young age and I know most important events from the beginning of wizarding communities to the defeat of… of the Dark Lord…” Draco had hesitated in calling Voldemort the Dark Lord as it denoted his allegiance quite openly, which he had never really done before in front of Harry.

Seeing the pallor on his friend’s face, Harry reassured him. “I knew you were a Dark wizard, Draco. In case you didn’t notice, I’m one too. Though it doesn’t mean I agree with the policy of… let’s say You-Know-Who, to be politically correct, because I think he was quite mad before the end. But let’s talk politics another time, shall we?” Harry took his bookbag and stood up from the bench. “It’s time for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Let’s see what stuttering Professor Q-Q-Q-Quirrell concocted for us this afternoon.”

They went to the third floor, got tricked by a wall trying to be a door, got lost for a few minutes in a labyrinthine corridor then finally found the egress through a door trying to be wall and arrived at the Defence Against the Dark Arts just as the bell signalling the beginning of the class rang. Their faces were red and they were breathless from their run in the maze Hogwarts had created.

They took their places and looking around determined they were not the last ones to arrive, as a few Hufflepuffs weren’t there yet.

“It s-s-s-seems the castle had decided to be mischievous t-t-today,” Professor Quirrell announced, “as I was f-f-f-forced to go through a labyrinth to reach the classroom and it seems m-m-most of you and your classmates were as well.”

The last of the Hufflepuffs arrived, very apologetic, but Professor Quirrell waved their excuses with his hand and went on saying : “Therefore I d-d-d-decided to adapt this lesson to the mood of the c-c-castle, and we are going to learn a new spell called Rictusempra.” Harry startled at the resemblance this spell had with the one Professor Snape had once at least used against a bogeyman. “Can anyone tell me what they think the spell does?”

Theo Nott raised his hand. When called upon, he said : “It’s a Tickling charm.”

“Yes,” Professor Quirrell said, “five points to Slytherin. Can someone be more p-p-precise?”

Theo Nott raised his hand again. He added : “The charm creates the sensation of being tickled quite hard, often making the victim of the charm wheeze, fall on his knees or collapse on the ground depending on the force applied to the charm.”

“Very good,” Professor Quirrell said with admiration, “ten points to Slytherin.”

Professor Quirrell left his desk and with a wave of his wand pushed the tables and chairs against the wall to clear a space in the centre of the room. He had however forgotten to ask the students to stand, and they moved with their chairs, sometimes getting blocked by a table, sometimes loosing their balance and falling down on the ground.

“Pardon me,” Professor Quirrell apologised tersely once all the students were back standing. “I thought it would be a g-g-good idea to have a practical lesson for once, before going into the t-t-theory.” He raised his arm and rolled up the sleeve of his teaching robes. “Please observe the movement of the wand, circle and jab. Circle and jab. You may p-p-practice it for a few minutes. Then the incantation is Rictusempra. Be careful with your p-p-pronunciation.”

After everyone had practised the spell without firing it, Professor Quirrell separated the class in two groups, face to face. One of each pair would cast the spell on the other, then the other would cast in return. The Professor warned every student that they shouldn’t push to much magical energy in their spells or points would be taken and if the offence was repeated, detention would ensue.

The lesson was fun. Harry cast the spell on Ernie McMillan who giggled and wriggled for a short moment, then had the spell cast at him. It was his turn to laugh and double up, wheezing a little. Draco was paired up with Hannah Abbott who seemed quite scared, but she received the spell and chuckled lightly while trying to scratch the invisible fingers tickling her. When it was her turn to cast, Draco barely moved a little, discomforted by the sensation but didn’t laugh. Harry thought maybe he wasn’t ticklish or Abbott had botched the spell.

The class was nearly over when an alarm blared in the corridors and the classroom with a message from the Aurors that at least three bogeymen had been sighted. Two in the dungeons and one on the ground floor, going for the kitchen or the Great Hall.

Harry and Draco looked at each other, thinking the same thing. The Aurors should have listened to Professor Snape. Indeed, they should have.

***

There was panic in the corridors as the students escaped from their classes and the supervision of their Professors to go back to their Common Room, remembering Headmaster Dumbledore declaring them the safest part of Hogwarts. It was all right for Gryffindors and Ravenclaws who lived in towers and could rejoin their Houses without descending stairs, but the Slytherins lived in the dungeons, and the Hufflepuffs on the ground floor near the kitchen, currently the most dangerous places in the school.

In the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Hufflepuffs were wailing and crying while Slytherins huddled together and tried to form a strategy. Professor Quirrell was shivering and looked close to fainting, just as he had when the first bogeyman had attacked on Halloween.

Miss Ellie and Miss Dorie appeared to Harry and began to give the outlines of what was happening to the school. The Aurors were attacking without success the bogeyman on the ground floor, but had succeeded in stopping his advance. However the two other bogeymen weren’t far behind, ascending the stairs from the dungeons. Soon the Aurors would be overwhelmed. Professor Snape had confined his class in the laboratory with wards preventing them to escape and was mounting, alone, a counter-attack from behind the bogeymen. Prefect Flint was running through the corridors trying to find Harry to learn the curses Harry knew so that he could help protect the school.

Miss Cassie appeared and said to Harry and Draco : “Prefect Flint won’t make it if you stay safe in this room, he’ll be ambushed and killed by one of the bogeymen somewhere near the first floor.” Draco couldn’t hear her but Harry translated quickly. “You have to decide now to join in the fray or let him die.”

Draco was looking pale, his hands trembling with fear but his eyes clear. He said : “You like him, don’t you? So let’s go save him…” He grabbed Harry’s arm. ‘But you’ll protect me too, right? You won’t let me die?”

“I won’t let you die, Draco,” Harry said. “You’re like the lost family I just discovered I had.”

Harry asked Miss Cassie : “Where is Prefect Flint now? How can we find him?”

Miss Cassie answered : “He’s in the corridor in front your classroom now, but he won’t stop.”

Harry cast Alohamora on the door, and the door creaked open, surprising Prefect Flint who startled and raised his wand in defence. Harry and Draco came out the door and Harry said : “You were looking for me?”

Prefect Flint was a bit taken aback but the situation didn’t allow time for questions about how the young First Year knew what he knew, just time to learn how to kill the monsters invading the school.

Harry decided that he couldn’t hide that he was talking to invisible shades to get information if they wanted to have enough information about the state of the school.

“Miss Cassie, how long do we have to get Prefect Flint up to speed with the spells?” Harry asked.

“Who are you talking to, Potter?” Flint asked at the same time that Miss Cassie answered : “Less than seven minutes before the Aurors are overwhelmed and the bogeymen began to climb the stairs towards you. They’ll kill and won’t barely stop for eating, so you have to be very proactive.”

Harry turned to Prefect Flint and said : “We only have a few minutes, how are you at Dark spells?”

“What?” Flint asked, flabbergasted.

“Come on, Flint,” Harry said, deliberately forgetting the honorific to make the older boy react. “You know the spells Professor Snape and I cast on the bogeymen are Dark, so can you learn them fast? We only have a few minutes, as I’ve said!”

Prefect Flint drew himself up, puffing his chest and said : “Bring it on, Potter.”

Harry turned towards Draco and said : “This is for you too.” He began rapid explanations : “The wand movement is always the same, a quick turn to the left as you cast. You have to attack the blood, that’s the cruor spells or the marrow which produces the blood, that’s the medulla spells, or the bones or skeleton, that’s the ossis and osseum spells. You have to use the most destructive spells you can think of : Volnero to hurt, Hebeto to render dead, Exitium to destroy and if it doesn’t work, fall back on your pureblood lessons in Latin and invent spells, that’s what I do. Questions?”

Flint asked : “How do you know all this? The Potters are traditionally a Light family.”

“Is it really important now?” Harry retorted. “Professor Snape is in the dungeons and is trying to ambush one of the bogeyman from behind, but the Aurors will soon be overwhelmed and then the whole school will be in danger.”

Flint wouldn’t left well enough alone. “How do you know what Professor Snape is doing?”

Harry didn’t answer and took Draco’s left hand, so that he could hold his wand with his right hand. He murmured to him : “Remember your Seeing powers, if you have an intuition, follow it.”

They descended the stairs and Prefect Flint followed them, grumbling about mysterious First Years who wouldn’t be intimidated by his big size or his deep voice.

They arrived on the ground floor and hid behind a few suit of armours that were still standing. The Aurors looked worn down and bloodied. Auror Shacklebolt had taken a claw in the dominant arm and was casting from his other hand. Auror Dawlish seemed to be concentrating on defensive spells which weren’t very useful against the teeth and nails of a monstrous creature immune to Light magic. Auror Moody was a bit more down-to-earth and was casting borderline spells which unfortunately were not enough to kill the bogeyman.

Harry crouched on the floor and raised his hand slowly, without his wand, and after turning sharply his fingers on the left whispered : “Exitium cruor. Exitium osseum. Exstinguo,” in rapid succession.

The bogeyman swayed under the attack, but he was more solid than his predecessors and didn’t fall down defeated yet.

Flint took over with his wand and said softly : “Hebeto medulla. Hebeto osseum. Combustio osseum.”

The bogeyman screeched as his skeleton began to burn, which the traditional spell Incendio hadn’t succeeded in doing.

Harry said one last word, as his Latin lessons were coming back. “Abolesco.”

Finally the bones of the bogeyman detached themselves and fell on the ground, charred and destroyed, by the spells students had cast. 

Draco said in a low voice to the other two : “Stay hidden. If they find us, they’ll send us away and it’ll be a catastrophe. They think they succeeded in vanquishing a bogeyman, when we know they didn’t. Stay hidden.”

The Aurors were congratulating themselves on a job well done. And Auror Dawlish took the time to patch up Auror Shacklebolt. And they conferred for a few minutes about what they were going to do next. Apparently going down to help in the dungeons wasn’t a priority, and they decided to stand guard at the Great Hall which seemed a logical rallying point.

It wasn’t logical at all, Harry thought, when they were two more monsters roaming the dungeons and students still locked up in their classroom. Weren’t the Aurors supposed to help? Maybe the help only came of you weren’t a Dark wizard, like Professor Snape was. Harry thought about this and decided right there and then that Aurors were as useful as a sequined dress during a nuclear war.

When the three Aurors moved, the three students moved as well, carefully so as not to be seen and headed for the dungeons through the obscure staircase.

Draco cast a Lumos spell, which was brilliant idea because now they could see a bogeyman waiting in ambush at the bottom of the stairs.

Both Harry and Prefect Flint attacked, not waiting for the monster to move and a dozen spells later, the bogeyman was dismantled, burned and the withered flesh was ground to a pulp.

Draco kept his Lumos going while they advanced towards the laboratory. 

Professor Snape was cornered by the third bogeyman and had taken a wound near his throat which was bleeding quite a bit and forced him to rasp his spells instead of shouting them. The bogeyman looked very wounded and not as quick as the other had been, which proved Professor Snape had acquitted himself very well of his own defence, but it was time for a little help.

Harry raised his left hand and said, turning his finger to the left : “Aboleo. Latito.”

The bogeyman shook then fall down, his bones dust.

Miss Cassie appeared again : “You’re going to need his help, Harry. He won’t let himself be healed by a student, so you’ll have to force it. I’m sorry about that, because he will likely never forgive you for saving his life like your father did, but it’s the only way. The healing spell is one he invented himself Vulnera Sanentur, it’s said in a chant a repeated three times.”

Prefect Flint had gone to Professor Snape and was supporting him by having Snape’s left arm above his large shoulder. “We should go to the Hospital Wing immediately,” Flint said.

“We can’t,” Draco said. “More bogeymen are going to spawn soon and we have to kill Bloody Bones before it happens or Hogwarts will be a charnel house of staff and students.”

“And I know how to heal Professor Snape of his wound, if he would only let me,” Harry added.

Professor Snape’s voice was low and raspy, but clear enough. “No way another Potter saves my life! I would prefer going to my grave!” The Professor was looking at Harry to make sure the child didn’t draw his wand.

Harry answered, his hands raised to show he had nothing in them : “Then think of it as a true Black saving your life, sir. Stupefy!” 

Weakened as he was, Professor Snape had forgotten Harry could do wandless magic. Prefect Flint was shocked and began to scream at Harry for disabling their Professor but Harry ignored him and took his wand in his left hand and chanted : “Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur.” The profound gash that had threatened Professor Snape’s life was closing slowly, the flesh knitting, the blood vessels hitching up to each other until only an ugly scar was left on the throat of the Professor.

Prefect Flint looked at this as if he couldn’t believe his eyes and he muttered : “The both of you, you’re not normal…” It was more a remark than an insult but Draco took it wrongly and said : “Would you prefer to have died or have Professor Snape die or have Hogwarts overrun by monsters eating children?”

Prefect Flint flinched and said : “No, I mean, you’re quite extraordinary for First Years. Especially you Draco, who began the year as a little wimp being bullied.” That was an insult but Draco let it pass this time.

***

“Miss Cassie!” Harry called. “Where should we go now?”

Miss Cassie appeared and said : “I’m dead, Harry. So why would you ask me instead of asking the very living Seer that is your best friend.”

Harry flushed beet red and turned towards Draco who was looking at the ground, obviously peeved at being so easily forgotten.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry said. “I’m not used to thinking about your talent.” Harry put his hand on Draco’s arm. “Please tell me what you think we should do next.”

Prefect Flint were looking at them as if they were mad.

“First,” Draco said in a trickle of voice, “we should wake the Professor up, because he’s going to need Blood-Replenishing Potions. Do you know the spell to do that, Prefect Flint?”

Flint was still staring at them goggly-eyed, but said in a joking voice : “Here I thought you knew everything. I’m reassured to see I’m still useful.” He pointed his wand over the prone form of Professor Snape and said : “Rennervate!”

Professor Snape spluttered and breathed deeply, then touched his throat in wonder, then puzzlement, then rage. He looked ready to erupt in violent diatribe against everything Potter when Draco interrupted him.

“You still need Blood-Replenishing Potions, sir. Then, as the Aurors decided to stay and guard the Great Hall and not to explore the dungeons, in case there was actually something down there, you’ll be free to accompany us to find the lair of Bloody Bones, because there really is no other explanation to this infestation of bogeymen, and we’re going because we’re the only ones who know spells to stop those monsters, the rest of the staff and the Aurors being as Light as they come.”

Prefect Flint was astounded when the sour Potions Professor acquiesced and the burly boy was sent into the private lab of the Professor to grab some of the Potions needed, including dittany as the Professor didn’t care from a scar that looked as if someone had tried decapitate him. Which was the case.

Up the stairs, they could hear a sort of commotion, as if students were close to the Great Hall and were brawling with the Aurors for access or information.

Miss Cassie flew up and down, then informed Harry that Neville Longbottom was revealing to the Aurors the hypothesis of Bloody Bones and was trying to get them to explore the dungeons looking for the big bad monster birthing the bogeymen, without much success yet.

“Yet is the operational word here, Harry,” Miss Cassie said. “He’ll convince them eventually and if Bloody Bones isn’t defeated by that time, then it won’t be at all because the Aurors will stop — immobilise, stun or even kill — anyone using Dark Arts. You must go now.”

“All right,” Harry said. “We have to find the lair of the beast. Any intuition, Draco? Where should we go?”

Almost naturally Draco took the lead, still using Lumos to see where he was going. He was touching the stone walls and let himself be directed by the negative energies that seemed to seep through them. Harry followed closely. Professor Snape and Prefect Flint, side by side, closed the procession.

They took stairs hidden by a tapestry. Snape grumbled : “I didn’t even know there were a level below, nevermind stairs behind a hanging on the wall.” He looked quite disgruntled.

The four of them descended the narrow stairs, not stopping when there was a landing, until they went down so deep into the bowels of Hogwarts that the cold and damp pervaded every inch of space there was. They arrived in a deep underground room, large like the inside of a cathedral, with a high ceiling.

In the middle of it, Harry and Professor Snape could see a ghostly figure crouching on blood and bones who seemed to produce bogeymen by jumbling these things together, until the monsters were formed. Those monsters were smaller and weaker-looking than the ones that had attacked the school, but a couple of them had grown enough to resemble their predecessors.

Draco and Prefect Flint only saw the bogeymen, being formed by blood and bones, as if by magic.

The presence of the living woke up the monsters who showed their pointed teeth and their sharp claws, before advancing on the four humans who had entered their territory.

“I don’t see Bloody Bones,” Draco shouted as he began to launch spells at the smaller bogeyman who seemed to target him specifically.

“I do,” Harry and Professor Snape answered at the same time, as Prefect Flint said : “Neither do I.”

“Professor, you should attack Bloody Bones, before it makes out more bogeymen than we can safely repel and I’ll watch your back for any of the monsters attack,” Harry declared, putting himself in a defensive position.

“I don’t think I’ll trust you at my back, Mr Potter,” Professor Snape said, his voice full of resentment. He hadn’t forgotten being stunned then saved by the boy, who just like his father didn’t care what Snape wanted or not. The reasoning was faulty of course, but Professor Snape held grudges dear and fast against his heart and it was going to be one of them, despite this Potter being a Slytherin.

“You don’t have much choice, unless you want to let the bulk of the job on my shoulders,” Harry said, provoking the Professor on purpose, “maybe I’ll do better than you in dispatching of the Mother of bogeymen that you will.”

“Stay there,” Professor Snape ordered. “And stop thinking, it’s unbecoming on a Potter.”

Harry cast spells to repel and counter-attack every movement that was made towards Professor Snape, whatever the direction they came from. The smaller bogeymen were more sensitive to the spells than their grown-ups equivalents, so it was quite easy. Aboleo, Harry thought and a bogeyman suddenly found himself dismembred. Hebeto, Harry thought and the next bogeyman fell to his knees, too weak to get back up. Torreo, Harry thought and the bogeyman who approached fell in flames.

Professor Snape had approached the translucent form of Bloody Bones and began to cast, with his wand for force and his voice for power the most deadly spells he knew concerning blood and bones. Some Harry had taught him, others he knew, some he invented on the spot. However, his efforts were in vain as every spell passed through Bloody Bones with no visible effect and the monster went on shape and build more bogeymen.

“Draco,” Harry called, “it’s not working, our spells are inefficient against the Mother, what are we doing wrong?”

Draco took a moment from his spellcasting to recall the draw he had made of the witches’ runes and called back : “The runes said bloody bones are in the afterlife. The Mother is not on the same plane as us, I suspect, whereas her creations are. I don’t know how to counter that!”

Harry thought Draco didn’t know but he did. Silently he called on the Black shades. One by one, they appeared around him, with words of encouragement or silence. Even Miss Wallie wasn’t insulting this time.

“Miss Ellie,” Harry said, addressing the oldest shade, “our enemy hides in limbo, where you live. We cannot attain it whatever our spells, but you can.” He looked at every shade Miss Vinnie, small and doll-like, Miss Charie, full of fun and life even in death, Miss Dorie, his grandmother who had a particular place in his heart, Miss Cedie, who knew Dark magic even if she didn’t practice it, Miss Wallie, who had helped him once before and Miss Cassie, newcomer that she was, who had opened his eyes to the talent of Draco. “I don’t know what the risks are for you to attack it, which is rather Gryffindor of me, I reckon. But I know the risks there are for not attacking it. It means death for everyone in this building and the end of Hogwarts as a school. Will you help us against this monstrous Bloody Bones?”

Each shade inclined her head. Miss Cassie drew Harry a little apart and said : “This is where our acquaintance ends, young Harry. I did what I have to do and I will not survive the attack. I will become a wisp in the darkness between the stars. Stay with young Draco, you’re good with each other.” She kissed him on the forehead. “Good luck for the rest of your life.”

Then each shade raised their wands and began to cast at Bloody Bones who stopped fashioning bogeymen and wailed. An gigantic sound echoed on the walls of the deep dungeons.

The battle was ferocious, spells used to tear from limb to limb, to chop up, to dissect, to burn, to kill, to weaken, to dismember, to annihilate, to destroy and to vanquish were sent in salvo by the shades again and again, against the enemy who didn’t seem to react to them, except shrieking, screeching and crying out again.

All the awful noises attracted the three Aurors who were upstairs. They simply followed the sounds, found the secret passage behind the tapestry and descended the stairs until they were confronted with a spectacle of spell lights coming from nowhere and hitting nothing. Or at least, an invisible huge shape. They didn’t know what to do for the moment until a whiny voice was heard. “Look, these are the four Slytherins causing all this trouble. That’s why they’re here, they did this!” Neville Longbottom cried out.

The bogeymen weren’t attacking, waiting on their Mother to command them while she battle for her life, using her enormous claws to wrack at the empty space, which wasn’t that empty in limbo. Miss Cassie fell, her body cut in half, then disappearing in smoke.

The Aurors shuffled down the stairs and began to round up Harry, Draco, Professor Snape and Prefect Flint, unable to see the battle still waged by the shades.

The screams of pain and terror of Bloody Bones grew in intensity. It seemed the Mother monster could be hurt and killed, but it necessitated a lot of fire power. And she grew more angry and aggressive the more hurt she was. Miss Vinnie was decapitated by a claw she hadn’t seen coming almost from behind her. Her body became smoke which flew away.

“What the hell is going on here, Snape?” Auror Moody growled. He had a magical blue eye that turned in every direction, which brought him the nickname of Mad-Eye.

Professor Snape drew himself up, his robes billowing around him without a flutter of wind as he turned towards the Auror . “As you can see, Auror, the lair of the bogeymen was in the dungeons, as I told you before, several times, I believe.”

Miss Cedie tried to cast a stunner on Bloody Bones and was impaled on a claw then thrown away. Her corpse turned to smoke which drifted before flying away.

Neville Longbottom replied : “They’re in the dungeons because you put them here, you Death Eater scum, you wanted to slay Muggleborn children just like your Master did.”

“Don’t be more of a dunderhead than you can help, Longbottom,” Professor Snape said. “The only victims of the bogeymen have been pureblooded : Vincent Crabbe, Marcus Flint, Walden McNair. I doubt they ever even approached a Muggleborn.”

Auror Shacklebolt interrupted the conversation. “What about the show of lights we’re witness to, Snape, any idea about that?”

Professor Snape shrugged and Draco answered for him. “Ethereal entities have taken the fight to Bloody Bones who is incorporeal as well. I don’t know if they’re winning or losing, but the bogeymen have stopped attacking since their Mother is otherwise occupied.”

“Balderdash!” Auror Dawlish exclaimed, just at the moment when Bloody Bones was finally defeated by Miss Ellie, Miss Charie, Miss Dorie and Miss Wallie. The corpse of the monster made of blood and bones and flesh was gigantic, almost up to the ceiling, twenty feet tall. It suddenly appeared visible for all to see, then unbalanced and dead it toppled over while the bogeymen disintegrated with no more will to hold them together.

“Bloody hell!” Auror Moody, as he was splashed on his robes with some brown blood that smelt like rotting meat.

Professor Snape, with his usual sarcasm, said : “Since you’ve seen fit to investigate the dungeons as I’ve suggested, I will accompany my students back to their Common Room and let you do your jobs.”

Neville Longbottom was standing like a statue, a dark patch on his trousers where he wet himself in fright at the sight of Bloody Bones, and a blob of dead flesh in his hair. He was obviously going into shock, but Professor Snape decided that as he had followed the Aurors down here, they could have responsibility for him. He had enough of three foolhardy students.

***

Professor Snape herded his three students back to his office, where he would have a conversation — not an interrogation, he thought — with them. Especially Harry Potter, who was still after several months of acquaintance a surprise.

Harry kept his head down. He tried to convince himself that the moisture in his eyes had nothing to do with tears, despite the fact that three Black shades, Miss Cassie, which he had barely known but who had helped him so much, Miss Vinnie, who had been the gentlest soul not alive and had taught him how to look and comport himself like a Black, and Miss Cedie, whom he wasn’t close with but who visited him regularly to keep a bit of light in his education, had lost their limbo lives to become ‘wisps in the darkness between the stars’, as Miss Cassie had put it.

Was it finally the doors of the otherworld open for them so that they could go on? Harry didn’t know and he hadn’t had time to question Miss Cassie more closely. He hoped dearly that the shades were in a better place.

Draco was looking a bit lost, as if he couldn’t believe he had known what to do because of his Seeing powers, but there was no denying it now. Draco was some sort of Seer and he would have to be trained in it, in secret if need be, as his parents hadn’t seemed receptive to their son having this kind of power.

Prefect Flint was smiling slightly, his right side all askew because of the scar, but still looking like a warrior — or a pirate, Harry’s mind repeated — happy to have fought the good fight and have won. He had learnt several new spells and even invented a couple of his own. This was the way of becoming a good Dark wizard, even if he wouldn’t use the spells in his daily life. He had felt their power and the rush there was to be powerful. It was the first step to being respected, which Flint intended to be.

The surviving shades surrounded Harry, which raised his eyes when he felt the warm feeling of company. They each had something to say.

“Cassiopeia knew it was her time, Harry,” Miss Ellie said. “She talked to us about how she had a mission to accomplish then she would be gone. She told us she believed the otherworld waited on the other side of death in this limbo. She was sure of it.”

Miss Dorie said : “Cedrella always fought on the Light side of… things. So she was against those bogeymen and their Mother more than any of us, as it was magic of the Darkest sort that could have awaken such creature.” Miss Dorie paused for an instant. “She was devoted to the fight especially as she spied on Headmaster Dumbledore and she discovered elements of necromantic ritual in his personal rooms. Apparently he was trying to invoke the spirit of the departed, his dead sibling perhaps.” Miss Dorie sighed. “She suspected his dabbling into Dark Arts with no prior knowledge of how to protect oneself or others may have awaken the creature.”

Miss Charie added, with some tears in her eyes : “Belvina loved you, Harry. She loved teaching a new Black everything she had learnt herself in her childhood. She wasn’t close to her children, she had two sons and one daughter, but her horrid husband had the children raised by House Elves, as is the tradition in the Burke family, probably why they don’t have any social abilities. She loved you very much, like the son she could raise. She would have died for you. She did.”

Harry was touched by the eulogies the shades were saying for their fallen comrades, and he was grateful for the silence of Miss Wallie who never had anything nice to say.

Professor Snape arrived with his three students at the door of his office and ushered them inside.

“What,” he began, “in the name of Merlin did you think you were doing?” His voice was soft and terribly menacing. Prefect Flint lowered his eyes and Draco turned his head away.

Only Harry was cheeky enough to ask : “At what time precisely? The time when we fought the bogeymen because the Aurors were completely incompetent? The time we saved your life because you would have bled out on your own? Or the time when we got rid of the terrible threat looming on Hogwarts?”

“Detention, Potter,” Professor Snape said with his face nearly puce from rage, “from now until the end of the year and maybe next year, and the next and for the rest of your pathetic career at Hogwarts!”

“Yes, I know,” Harry answered. “Miss Cassie told me you wouldn’t forgive me ever for saving your life when my father did the same, though the circumstances differed.”

“One of your shades, I suppose,” Professor Snape asked, at the same time as Prefect Flint said : “What shades?” Snape went on : “What is she saying now?”

“She was cut in half by the claws of Bloody Bones and disappeared in smoke, so she’s not saying anything anymore. Seems like even shades can be killed. Three of them fell under the attack of the monster.” Harry spoke with a tremulous voice and he kept his eyes from leaking tears, though his pupils were dilated and his eyes especially bright.

“What shades?” Prefect Flint repeated, annoyed at being ignored.

Draco answered : “Harry can see the dead who didn’t cross the veil, not ghosts, people in limbo forever condemned to drift with no contact with the living and no happily ever after in the otherworld. Professor Snape’s ancestor cursed the women of the Black family to limbo over an adultery affair and Harry has inherited the blood magic of the Blacks which means he can interact with them. These Black women, we call them shades.”

“Are you completely out of your mind for believing this tripe?” Prefect Flint exclaimed.

“How else did Harry learnt blood spells, Flint? From his Muggle relatives?” Draco countered.

Prefect Flint took a deep breath and stared at Harry for a long moment. He began to open his mouth, probably with more questions, then shut it. He turned to Draco and said : “And those Seeing powers? Are you the next Trelawney?”

It was Harry who answered this time : “Draco won’t have visions nor won’t do prophecies. He just can tell the future with instruments, like my witches’ runes. He read the draw correctly and that saved our lives. I would never have thought that Bloody Bones was in limbo nor that the shades could attack her while we couldn’t. I just thought there would be a big battle.”

“Why take me with you, then, if you already had everything worked out?” Prefect Flint asked, his air morose.

“Miss Cassie said if we didn’t stop you and went with you when we did, well… you’ would have ended up dead…” Harry murmured, his face flushed scarlet. “I didn’t want you to die, you’re one of the most tolerable Upper Years we have in the House.”

Prefect Flint looked at him and blushed.

Professor Snape looked at his three students and decided it was time to dismiss them, because he had enough and he wouldn’t coddle his Slytherins until they weren’t able to do anything by themselves. He told them the truth about the events though.

“I don’t know how I can shield you from what happened in the cavernous underground chambers of Hogwarts with Bloody Bones and its bogeymen. Be prepared for questioning and even accusations of using unwholesome magic. Dismissed.”

***

No questioning and no accusations were ever levelled against either Professor Snape or the Slytherin Fifth Year Prefect or the two Slytherin First Years.

The gossip amongst the students and the staff was that Neville Longbottom had identified the threat and convinced the Aurors of his suspicions, after which a long battle ensued — proof being that two of the Aurors were injured on the job — during which Longbottom and the Aurors brought down the monster and its minions, eliminating the threat to Hogwarts for ever.

Prefect Flint was a bit chagrined that his participation in the battle was overlooked but decided quite wisely, that it was better than a trial for Dark magic, the probability of getting expelled and the possibility of Azkaban, the wizarding prison guarded by monstrous creatures called Dementors, which from description looked like they might be worse than the bogeymen. Bogeymen only ate you. Dementors ate your soul.

Harry was delighted not to be in the limelight but he clenched his teeth very hard when Headmaster Dumbledore awarded one hundred and fifty points to Neville Longbottom for his heroic actions to save the school, considering the actions from Harry’s point of view had been being a tattle-tale and pissing his trousers. Those points put Gryffindor in the lead for the House Cup, instead of Slytherin, which was Harry thought Headmaster Dumbledore’s biased ways to manage his school.

Draco was still a bit shocked by his new fledgling abilities. Harry had offered him his witches’ runes, but Draco preferred a trade and had given Harry his own dress robes. He had several others at home, so it didn’t matter much to him.

Professor McGonagall was looking with narrowed eyes at the Slytherins, especially Harry, as if she suspected the neat story of the end of the bogeymen invasion was bogus. Harry didn’t talk to her at all, except to answer class questions and tried to avoid her in the corridors if he could. The Transfiguration Professor had taken to talk a lot to Professor Snape as well, but as he was known to be something of a curmudgeon, no one was surprised that he wouldn’t really answer her.

However, something she said about Harry was strange enough that Professor Snape wanted to follow-up. She had told the story of a the young boy found in a cupboard, as a joke to his family, and how Headmaster Dumbledore had explained the Muggle Children’s Services had never found anything untoward happening in the house, only a boy with bad behaviours and tendencies.

Professor Snape looked at Professor McGonagall and asked : “And how exactly did Albus know about the Muggle services’ reports? I didn’t think he would invest himself in the history of every Muggleborn and Muggle-raised students.”

Professor McGonagall didn’t have an answer to that, and doubt began warring with suspicion. She looked at Harry with different eyes, trying to see what was behind the exterior of a calm and studious Slytherin, whom she had believed was a bully and a prankster like his father before him. His father had been a Gryffindor and so such antics had been taken much more lightly. But what proof did she have against Harry? The question was nagging at her and she didn’t have an answer.

Professor Snape was looking at Harry differently as well, knowing that he came from what seemed a neglectful family at best, an abusive one at worst. There wasn’t much he could do so late in the year. But he remembered Petunia Evans with dislike and thought a summer visit would be perhaps appropriate, to remind her wizards were more powerful than her and that she should treat her nephew with more care.

The exams came and went for the First Years, and OWLs for the Fifth Years and NEWTs for the Seventh Years. The results would be sent in the summer, but Harry and Draco were sure that they had done well. Or well enough.

Soon it was the end of the year. The Hogwarts Express was waiting patiently in Hogsmeade, white smoke billowing out its chimney.

“Will you write to me, Harry?” Draco asked, in a timid voice. It was odd, because Draco had stopped being timid and shy months ago.

“If you write to me first.” Harry looked at Draco. “You know I don’t have an owl and you don’t have a Muggle address, so you’ll have to write first and instruct the owl to wait outside the house. The Dursleys won’t want an owl inside and I don’t need the grief they would make me feel if my freakish way of life was intruding on their normal one. Maybe tell me about what you see in the runes for next year. Maybe something exciting and scary will happen as well.”

“Well, I hope no one will die next year or they could close the school for good,” Prefect Flint said, from behind Draco. “See you next year, squirts.” He had stopped a moment to tousle the hair on Harry’s and Draco’s heads. Harry’s hair looked completely shaggy and Draco’s hair looked as if it hadn’t been touched at all.

“Come on,” Harry said taking the hand of Draco and tugging him inside the train, “let’s find a compartment. I’ve a few coins left, we can buy sweets off the trolley lady.”

Harry and Draco spent the journey, talking and laughing and eating sweets.

At the end, once the train arrived in King’s Cross, Dorea appeared to Harry.

“Seems like the wizarding world wasn’t an escape from the Dursleys forever, like I had hoped,” she said. “But at least, you made some friends and had some adventure, even if you lost some of us.”

The loss was less acute now that it had been when the battle occurred. And Harry knew that even if he saw and heard and talked to the shades, they were dead already. He smiled.

“See you next year, Draco,” Harry said with a grin, as he pushed his trunk on the trolley towards the exit of Platform Nine and Three Quarters. “And Black blessings on you.”

Draco raised his hand and waved, already pushing his own trolley towards his parents, the impressive Lucius Malfoy that Harry had seen as a boggart and later on for real at Hogwarts, and a beautiful woman with long blond curls and an icy smile, Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry would have been concerned for his friend if he had stayed the same than at the beginning of the year but Draco had grown up and was going to be powerful of his own.

“You took your sweet time,” shouted Uncle Vernon once Harry passed the barrier. “Come on, your aunt and Dudley are waiting in the car. And no hocus pocus from you, do you hear?”

Harry grinned, a wicked smile and couldn’t stop himself from saying, as a joke : “Hocus pocus,” in a creepy voice and laughed when Uncle Vernon winced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter and everything related belongs to J.K. Rowling.  
> Obviously.


End file.
